


A Hex Called Sacrifice

by SpunYarn



Series: A Book Of Hexes [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Action, Angst, Despair, Dirty Talk, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22085995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpunYarn/pseuds/SpunYarn
Summary: While defending Tiki during the ritual that will link her to Naga's strength, Lucina is faced with memories of the horrid future that she fled from, and plagued with doubts of whether she's been following the right path to avoid it. Can the Shepards survive the battle to stop Grima's revival?
Relationships: Brady/Noire (Fire Emblem), Eudes | Owain/Serena | Severa, My Unit | Reflet | Robin/Sallya | Tharja
Series: A Book Of Hexes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1140368
Comments: 56
Kudos: 32





	1. A Hex Called Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting to protect Tiki while she performs the ritual to connect with the power of Naga, Lucina is plagued of memories of her past failures, and filled with a desire to defeat leader of this enemy force so she can put such foul thoughts behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a sequel to the other stories in The Book Of Hexes? **Yes.**
> 
> Do you have to have read the other stories in The Book Of Hexes to enjoy this story? **No.**
> 
> Happy New Year everybody! 
> 
> Now that I've gotten that out of the way. If you've chosen this to be your jumping on point to the story, I am inspired by your adventurous spirit. Some of the future children are going to have hair colours that might sound wrong, but that's because of the way I paired up the other heroes in this story. If you jumped in here hoping for a non-stop sex fest, that isn't really what any of my multi-chapter stories end up being, so you'll be disappointed. If you were hoping for a character study where our heroes go through some stuff, and every once in a while we take a break for some sexy time, I'm pretty sure you're my target audience.
> 
> For those of you who've been following the series; Hey, remember that time you asked for more Hex stories, and what I heard was that you all wanted to come with me on another beautiful adventure of crushing despair? All aboard the pain train, whoo whoo!
> 
> Edit (2020/01/03): The Grima scene is slightly less icky now...or possibly as icky but in a different way. Either way it isn't as overt as what it used to be, and a section that ended up not being accurate to other characters was changed into something that, in all honesty, is probably better. I was going to put off the change until I had the next chapter ready to go up, but then I realized that I hadn't put a tag for Tiki being an important character in this story and I mean...I definitely should have done that. I also found a typo or two that I fixed, so while the changed scene might just be subjectively better, the fact that the chapter has less typos makes it objectively better.

Lightning crackled through the sky as the dark clouds roiled and rubbed against each other. The air was heavy with the dark scents of blood, ash, and death. The wind screamed, carrying the howls of combat as it whipped up spiralling twisters of dust and ash. A thick veil of magic permeated the atmosphere, small crackles of light dancing about every now and then.

Uneven steps echoed over the stone tiles of the floor. A dry rasp of a groan slipped out of the throat of an empty husk that had once been a man. Its eyes glowed with the dull red magic that animated its form. Its movements were punctuated by the scrape of broken steel against cracked stone as it dragged its rusty weapon behind it. The tattered and broken remains of its armour floated around its broken undead form.

The risen monstrosity turned its gaze to the sky at the sound of a screeching roar. It lazily brought its sword up in a vein attempt to defend itself as a beam of scorching light crashed into its form. The creature struggled to remain standing as its form was blasted away by the crackling force of the beam of light. It’s lips cracked open in a silent scream as it crumbled away into ashes and dust.

A large white dragon slammed into the space that the undead soldier. The dragon curled it’s wings as it screamed into the air, the green feathers that adorned the dragon’s wings flickering with magical energy for a moment as it shouted to the heavens. The white dragon’s body flickered and cracked for a moment before fading away into a staggering green-haired woman. Her chest heaved under her ragged breath as she stomped her foot into the ashen remains of the burnt risen. The heel of her red boot ground ashes further into the ground.

The woman’s head flicked up at the sound of more uneven footfalls moving around the broken ruins of the ancient temple. Low wordless groans rattled in the dry throats of long-dead soldiers as the shuffled around ruins. The woman grit her teeth, her long pointed ears twitching as they picked up the sounds of undead soldiers all around her. She gripped tighter at the round, green stone in her palm slowly sliding into a better position from which to launch her counter attack. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the undead legions come to a stop, staring at her with their cold glowing eyes.

The stone cracked, an unpleasant noise, like shards of glass scraping against each other. The woman’s eyes went wide as she looked at the fading magical lights in the stone as they flickered and died. The green crystal crumbled into tiny grains of sand, sifting through her fingers and being swept away by the swirling winds of the battlefield. She grit her teeth, her fingers curling into a tight fist around the last remnants of the crystal sand.

A battle with her only weapons being her fists and her wits was not something that Tiki had been hoping for. Truly, she had known this was how it would eventually be. This was the end that she had foreseen, and while she had done everything that she could to keep it from happening, it was her destiny to be here this day. The sand beneath her boots crackled as she drew her arm back, ready to do everything that she could to buy the world a few more moments before its end. Maybe she could still get out of this, still live to fight another day. At worst she could probably escape. It wasn’t like the Risen were known for being particularly speedy.

Her hope evaporated as a dark shadow descended upon the battlefield. The Risen all but vanished in the harsh contrast of this sudden darkness. Tiki blinked, trying to will her eyes to adjust to this sudden change faster. She lifted her arm quickly as she was buffeted by a wave of wind kicking up the dust and ash around her. Shielding her eyes with her arm she let out a primal scream, trying to ignore the stale taste of the dust and sand that had been kicked into the air. When the force of the wind finally subsided the temple grounds were obscured by thick miasmic clouds of smoke and dust.

When Tiki finally looked up, she saw the imposing shadow of a giant dragon perched on the crumbling fortress walls. It’s massive body blotted out what light might have been able to pierce the clouds. Its skin was as black as pitch, like some vile and nightmarish shadow. Its piercing eyes looked out over the battlefield before turning down, focusing on the exhausted Manakete with a palpable pressure. Tiki was overcome by a primal sense of fear, her knees shaking before failing under the unassailable weight of this terrible dark god’s gaze.

“That’s embarrassing…” The voice bounced off of the broken stones of the temple, it’s soft and calm tone seeming to be at odds with its nature as an all-present echo.

Tiki bit her bottom lip pounding a fist into the ground. The hope for escape had all but vanished. That dark veil of shadow had blotted out more than just the sun, it had blotted out her last hop. She screwed her eyes shut, letting herself fall back into a seated position on her legs. When she opened her eyes again she stared up into the heavens, lamenting her powerlessness to do anything to change fate or save the world.

The clicking of boots against broken stone cut through the air, the dark smoke and shadows parting slightly as a figure emerged from their inky darkness. Messy white hair fell over his empty black eyes but did little to hide the empty and emotionless expression on his face. The robes that hung from his skin seemed less to be fabric, and more to be a collection of the swirling black smoke that had been kicked up by the black dragon’s terrible wings. The open robes exposed the toned muscles of his chest behind a thin layer of pale, almost transparent skin. He struck the image of some terrible spectre, but his presence exuded a pressure that made it clear that he was so much more.

“All of that blood, violence, and death…” He let out a long sigh as he looked past Tiki further into the broken ruins of the temple behind her, “We could have avoided all of that if you’d simply _started_ on your knees.”

Tiki curled her fingers into fists on her lap again, slowly bringing her eyes down to glare at the imposing figure of white and black, “You won’t win.”

The black eyes that had been looking into the depths of the ruins flicked back to Tiki. Once again the Manakete woman felt the cold pressure of that gaze, freezing her in place and weighing her down. His words were still calm and relaxed even as she spat her defiance at him, “Except you don’t really believe that.”

He slowly began to walk again, each click of his boots against the earth seemed to steal the breath from Tiki’s lungs, “Haaah…” She forced a pained smile onto her face, “You arrived just a little too late, Grima! I’ve already used the magic here and opened the gate to the past!”

The empty eyes of the human avatar of the fell dragon flicked up into the broken ruins again as he continued to close the distance on Tiki. She had hoped to see bitter disappointment or fear to be reflected on his features. She would have even excepted her last moments to be seeing him explode into a rage before using his magics to vaporize her. Instead he wore that same empty mask of indifference that had had been showing her since stepping out of the shadows. That empty expression reached deep into her chest, stopping her heart for a beat and making her blood run cold.

“I’m aware.” His voice was still cold and calculating. It was inhuman in how little emotion it conveyed. As he stopped just before the fierce Manakete warrior who had been brought to her knees, those cold eyes flicked back to her again, “I’m hardly frightened by your final gambit of using faulty magic that you don’t fully understand to send emotionally broken children hurtling through time.” He shrugged slightly, finally closing his eyes.

“How…How did you know what we were doing?” Tiki’s mouth went dry, her voice cracking as she looked up to the avatar of Grima with horrified eyes.

The question finally prompted a response from the pale-skinned man. His eyebrow twitched, his lip curling into a slight frown. He held up his hand, a wave of force striking the Manakete woman, “Because I’m a god, and not just some mortal pretender, _Voice of Naga_.” He spit the title like it was some foul tasting thing on his tongue.

Tiki did her best to hold her ground, flinching under the crackling wave of magic. She felt a fire in her nerves as her armour failed to hold up against Grima’s magical blast. When it finally let up, she slumped forward, her palm falling flat against the cold stone in front of her. Her lungs burned with the labour of breathing, sweat dripping from her brow and stinging in her eyes. Her skin ached under every jagged magical cut and slash that had sheared away at her armour and clothes. She could feel the sand and grit against patches of naked flesh, could feel frayed and tattered parts of her cloth flutter against her skin as their ends danced in the wind. She knew she lacked the defences to stand up to another strike like that.

“You’re -huff- not a god…” She choked out her deviance, pushing herself back into a seated position, unwilling to give Grima the satisfaction of staying bowed before him, “Your power is nothing against the divine strength of Naga.”

The avatar looked down at the girl who’s eyes glowed with defiance even as she knelt before him clad in nothing but rags. She refused to shiver with fear under his stern gaze. She refused to back down under the pressure of his presence. She refused to bow down before this dark mockery of divinity. As she looked up she watched the avatar’s face soften, his lips, for the first time, curling into a smile.

“Are you hoping she’ll come down here and try to save you?” He brought his hand up again, and the Manakete flinched, closing her eyes, “I’ll tell you a secret…” Instead of a destructive blast of magic, she felt his fingertips brush the side of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open in confusion before she shifted, trying to escape his touch, “…I’m hoping for that too.”

Tiki’s eyes went wide in confused horror. She looked up at the avatar, her body feeling cold under those empty eyes, “I don’t…” She shuddered softly, her mind swirling with fear and confusion. What was he even saying?

He turned his gaze to the heavens as if searching for something that he had lost in the clouds, “When she comes down, I’ll make her mine.” His eyes came down again, settling on the green haired Manakete who was failing her hide the trembling of fear in her body, “I’ll teach her that her place is on her knees before me, just like you.”

She shook her head, pushing away all of the trivial questions and thoughts, “As Naga’s avatar I demand-”

“Ah, demands.” His smile took on a cruel trait, “If I close my eyes you almost do sound like Naga’s Voice.” He took in a long breath as he looked back to the sky, “But _avatar_ …Oh my…” He tilted his head to the side, “Do you think she’s inhabiting you now? Is she sharing your fear, feeling the breeze on her face, tasting the ash on her tongue?”

Tiki’s eyes shot back and forth, watching the Risen that had been hiding in the fog of ash and smoke as they began to encircle her. She closed her eyes and straightened her shoulders. If this was to be her end she would meet it head on, with fear forgotten and nothing but pride in her heart. She had stood up to Grima, bought the children time to make it through the portal, saved the world from this being its terrible end. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It had been an honour to give her life for the divine Naga, to put all of her strength into this final struggle.

“Naga is always with me.” She said the words with pride.

“Perhaps she’ll be able to feel this then…”

Cold boney hands grappled at her, twisting into her green hair and biting into her soft flesh. Fabric stretched and snapped as the undead monstrosities tore the shredded remnants of Tiki’s amour away. Tiki gasped, her eyes going wide in horror ad disgusts as the undead things ripped away her clothes and wrestled her into the dusty floor. Her stomach turned, tears stinging at her eyes at the humiliation of being bared and manhandled in such a way. She bit her bottom lip, refusing to cry out even when the creatures pulled her hair, to force her to look back up the the avatar of the fell dragon.

Grima’s avatar once again wore a cold expressionless mask as he looked down on her helpless form, his fingers tracing odd patterns into the air. She glared hatefully at him, doing her best to hide the fear and terror that sat like a pit in her stomach as he prepared whatever he planned for her next. She refused to give them a reaction, refused to let him see how powerless she felt. This was all going to have been worth it somehow. The children would go back in time, change their fate, and none of this would have happened. If this humiliation was the cost, she’d pay it.

“You still think your useless gamble will somehow pay off, don’t you?” He looked over his shoulder for a moment before gently waving. Responding to his summons, a small handful of horrid undead creatures bounded past them, into the temple, “The portal should still be open for a few more minutes. I’m sure my Risen will perform as admirably in the past as your lost children.”

Tiki’s eyes went wide with horror as the Avatar stepped around her. Her tears streaked down her cheeks as she choked out a sob. What had all of their fighting been for if she failed now. She struggled, trying to wrench her wrists out of the bony grasp of the undead soldiers. She lost sight of the Avatar as he stepped past her, fear sinking further into her stomach like a stone. She shook her shoulders, turning her head to watch as the horrid beasts ran into the temple. She grit her teeth, her eyes going wide as she watched a flash of blue hair chase after them.

A sour smile spread across the Manakete’s lips as she watched that blue cape vanish into the shadows. Something about that girl’s imposing figure had always made her seem like a true legendary hero, like a pillar of light in a sea of shadows. Tiki closed her eyes, knowing that there was still a hope. The weirder of Falchion would chase down those shadows, even into the past, and somehow come out of that muck clutching victory. As Lucina ran into the temple to chase down the Risen, Tiki couldn’t help but think about how much she really did look like Marth.

The world went red as the fell dragon placed a hand, burning with black energy against the Manakete’s naked skin. Tears bubbled in her eyes as she fought not to scream against the pain. She knew if she cried out for help, Lucina might turn back. The Manakete closed her eyes, throwing her mind into a past where she was surrounded by the Shepards, weren't just her friends, but had become her family. As she felt Grima’s hands dig into her skin she found comfort in the hope that Lucina would find a way to stop this all, and those simple times never come to an end.

oOoOo

Lucina grit her teeth as she swung Falchion through another one of seemingly endless Risen. The sudden flashes of foul memories from the future she was hoping to avoid were unwelcome. She drew her sword free from the crumbling Risen that she had been fighting and took a deep breath of the air. She took a moment to acknowledge the green grass and the blue sky, having to remind herself that this was not the world ruined by Grima…at least not yet. She shook her head, filing the flashes of memory away as fate reminding her of the consequences if she should fail.

The fear and despair stuck in the sword-wielder’s stomach. It was like this every time that she remembered the future where she’d been too weak to defend Tiki. Perhaps that was the reason the memory had chosen now to play out in her mind’s eye. Maybe being here and defending the Manakete during her ritual to connect with the divine Naga was too close to that bitter moment. Maybe she was afraid that she’d find herself once again running away to save herself.

Her eyes flashed over to the Shepards strategist as he fired a bolt of crackling electrical energy through a regiment of the undead soldiers. She had been lying to herself when she said she didn’t know why she was remembering it. It was his face that haunted her nightmares. How could she forget that white hair, or those robes as black as shadows? She could lie to herself and say she was only remembering abandoning Tiki in the future because she didn’t want to abandon her now. No. The truth was her stomach turned a little every time the man with Grima’s face was near her.

The image of the Risen tearing at Tiki’s clothes and pulling her hair still haunted the princess’s nightmares. She still remembered the bitter tears of helplessness behind her butterfly mask as she ran to the portal, unable to save Tiki from her fate. She could still hear the M anakete ’s strangled screams chasing her through the temple walls and ringing in her ears. For a time, she thought she could put it aside and move on. For a time she was willing to believe that the Robin she knew wasn’t the avatar of the fell dragon. On missions like this one, it was a bit harder not to see those cold black eyes staring at her when she spotted him on the battlefield. It was hard not to imagine him siding with the enemy.

A dark shadow flashed over Lucina for a moment, causing the soldier from another time to look to the skies briefly. A pitch-black pegasus flapped its wings, tearing through the skies above. The dark rider on its back twirled a long spear with a cruel and jagged point. A bolt of lightning jumped from the horrid weapon, scorching the earth and cutting through one of the Shepards’ foot-soldiers. He let out a scream of anguish as his body twitched helplessly before collapsing into a heap on the ground.

Lucina narrowed her eyes dangerously. Dark Fliers were dangerous no matter what time you were in. Watching the skilled sorceress of the sky weave through the air, Lucina immediately identified the enemy commander. The faster they took that flier down, the faster they could be done with this mission, and she could be done with memories of her most monumental failure. She turned her eyes over to the team’s tactician to see that he was also focusing his attention on the Dark Flier. Well, he wasn’t her father’s trusted tactician for nothing.

The two heroic units turned, bolting after the sky sorceress as she zipped through the battlefield. Lucina grit her teeth, frustrated with how fast this Dark Flier seemed to be. It was almost like she was stealing lives on the battlefield and turning their souls into pure speed. Every time she got close enough to make a final push and attack, the black pegasus would zip away like an obsidian bolt of lightning. It didn’t help that following the Dark Flier meant that Lucina kept putting herself in the middle of packs of Risen that she had to cut her way through.

A deafening boom split the air, the shockwaves of the sound causing Lucina’s lungs to ache in her chest. She buried Falchion in the torso of a Risen and looked up to see a cracking blast of lightning shot from Robin’s fingers hitting the black winged horse. There was a smoky spray of feathers as the dark skinned woman leaped off of the animal and it flapped desperately to the ground to make its escape. Lucina clicked her tongue against her teeth as the rider vanished from her view behind a wall of undead soldiers.

This was all too familiar to the blue-haired warrior. She couldn’t do anything because a wall of Risen was between her and where she needed to be. She wasn’t going to let her failures repeat. She wasn’t going to let a future where the Risen stopped her from saving people exist. She narrowed her eyes, tightening her grip on the legendary Falchion. If destiny was really and endless loop of repeated failures she’d break that wheel with the strength of her will.

“I challenge my fate!” She growled, cutting her way through one of the Risen that stood between her and her goal with her heavy sword. Her battle cry was a reminder of the promise she’d made as she stepped through that portal into the past.

She’d made her decision when she went through the portal. Even if the path to salvation meant wading through vile muck she’d walk it. She’d hold her head high carrying the weight of the world proudly on her shoulders. She’d be the beacon of light in the darkest of places so bright that the shadows wouldn’t dare approach. She’d do anything, pay any cost to never be so weak again, to never feel the bitter tears of helplessness at failing to save the ones she loved.

oOoOo

The foul smell of burnt feathers and ozone floated around the small clearing in the battlefield where the dark-skinned woman had landed. Robin raced forward, the crackling energy of a fresh charge from his spell tome dancing between his fingers. The roars of battle still assailed him from every angle, but in this clearing with the dark-skinned woman he at least had a moment to catch his breath. He took a stance, readying himself for whatever move she made, his free hand going to the sword at his hip in case things turned to melee combat.

The dark woman turned her head to look back at the strategist behind her with one eye. Her painted lips twitched up into a slight smile as she leaned forward into the wicked spear that she had planted into the ground. The black leather and lace of her outfit held a dangerous appeal that only grew as she slowly turned and revealed how little it truly covered. She leaned back, her hands stretching up the shaft of her spear as she swayed seductively, her violet eyes smouldering with deadly intent as she sized up the strategist.

“The Shepards’ strategist has come to face me himself?” She slid her hand down the spear’s length, letting her fingers dance over her neck before settling over her bosom, “Such manly spirit has my heart racing.”

Robin narrowed his eyes dangerously, readjusting his grip on his sword. Experience told him that it would be a fatal mistake to lower his guard when faced with a Plegian sorceress. All of them had trained, honing their skills and bodies into the perfect weapon. He’d had to spend many a strategy meeting trying to ignore Tharja’s attempts at distracting him by bending and stretching her body to accentuate her womanly figure. At this point he felt pretty well-versed in seeing past the use of seduction to distract.

The woman eyed Robin closely, her smile turning to a slight pout, “Are those shivers of fear I can see running through your body?” She let go of the spear, leaning forward and letting the hand that wasn’t over her chest snake down between her thighs, “You got me excited for nothing…I thought I was looking at a _real_ man.”

Robin’s eyes flashed over the clearing between them, quickly trying to analyze his best avenue of attack, “What would a woman who uses undead puppets know about real men?”

Her lips twisted into a wicked smile as she stretched her arms out, reaching towards him as if beckoning him into a hug, “Come, then…” Her eyes glowed with a gaze that felt like it pierced into his soul, “Show me.”

The strategist was almost caught off guard when one of the Risen behind him lunged forward with a slashing attack. He narrowly dodged to the side, and brought his sword up quickly to block another attack from the other. The force of the blows sent him staggering a little further into the clearing. He grit his teeth as he brought the sword up in a slash to cause one of the Risen to back off and give him more maneuvering space.

His eyes went wide as he felt a pressure behind him and on instinct he dodged to the side, barely escaping the edge of the dark woman’s spear. The sparking weapon glittered as it cut through the air sparks of magical electricity dancing off of its jagged edges. Robin watched the spear pierce into the Risen that he’d just dodged. He turned his confused eyes just in time to see the woman’s manic smile as her white hair flew around her like a halo. She had clearly gone mad if she wasn’t concerned about if her attacks hit her own allies.

Robin coughed as the air was suddenly knocked out of his lungs, his brain struggling to comprehend what had just happened. It was almost as if space had bent around them. One instant she was diving forward, and the next she had twisted around and buried her knee in his stomach. He had heard of Dark Fliers being able to gain boosts of speed, but he’d always understood it to come at the cost of a life.

The strategist bounced across the ground, struggling to hold onto his sword as he came rolling to a stop. He narrowed his eyes as he looked up and watched the dark skinned woman place her boot into the chest of the Risen before cruelly yanking the weapon from its lifeless form. Suddenly what had just happened all made sense, “You -haff- killed your own soldier -huff- for a speed boost?”

The woman tilted her head to the side, spinning the spear behind her with one hand while bringing the index finger of the other to her lips, “It’s simply strategy.” She drew the finger down over her chin, stopping when her palm was over her chest like she was some proper lady responding to a minor offence, “I’d have thought a tactician would appreciate the elegance of it.”

Robin grit his teeth, pushing himself back to his feet, “There’s nothing elegant about being a monster.”

Her hand moved up, covering her mouth as she chuckled, “Oh, dear Robin…” She lined her feet up toe to heel, catching the end of her spear with the crook of her elbow, “I’m not a monster.” She drew the hand from in front of her face to the side, her fingers finding the open pages of a black tome that Robin could have sworn had come out of thin air, “I’m Aversa.”

Robin’s eyes went wide as sharp arrows of inky darkness sliced through the air on their journey towards him. In everything he’d heard about Dark Fliers they could use elemental magics like him but lacked the aptitude for the dark arts. He winced as he felt the spiny tendrils of black energy that this woman shouldn’t have been able to cast bite into his skin as he attempted to dodge. In eerie chill spread through his skin from everywhere it touched, making his muscles feel weak and dull.

The strategist looked up to the dark woman as he dodged the last of her volley of dark magic. His eyes registered her image shimmering and then suddenly she was upon him, delivering another kick to his side, sending him back into the dirt. He turned as he fell, his eyes looking behind where he had been to see another one of the Risen crumbling into ash and dust. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the black energy of Aversa’s magical volley crackling through its crumbling remains.

Aversa signed softly, flipping her white hair over her shoulder with the back of her hand, “Is that the extent of it?” She sneered as she looked down at him flipping her spear-arm to a more relaxed position at her side, “I guess I really did get worked up over nothing…”

Robin coughed into the dirt making a show of struggling to stay upright. Beneath his coat he had slipped open of his tomes, his fingers tracing the long-memorized patterns of its pages. With her mad speed, his best chance was to catch her off balance. It was a law of nature that prey was most dangerous when it was weak and the predator let down its guard. When he felt Aversa’s boot against his side he rolled, thrusting his hand forward to unleash a crackling bolt of electrical energy into the air.

The white-haired witch rolled her shoulder back, digging the point of her spear into the earth behind her and using it as a pivot to swing her body backwards. Her flexible body twisted around the shaft of the spear like it was some sort of seductive dance. Once her feet touched the ground, she plucked the weapon from the earth, spinning it around until it rested behind her neck and over her shoulders. She smiled at him, her wrists hanging over the shaft of her spear in a relaxed and confident stance.

“That’s much better.” Her expression was as calm and composed as ever as she watched him, a smug smile still lingering on her lips.

Robin quickly decided that his best chance at survival was to press this momentary advantage. He stepped forward, firing another bolt of electricity streaking through the air towards Aversa. The woman closed her eyes, stepping to the side and letting the searing spear of energy pass inches from her face. Robin shot forward sinking into the opening that his magic attack had opened and bringing his sword forward. The dark woman ducked her shoulders forward, catching the flat of his sword with the side of the spear and pushing the strike away from her. Curling his fingers into a ball, Robin threw a desperate punch at the woman in black.

Aversa flipped her spear around, catching Robin’s elbow with the hard wooden shaft. With another spin of her body she had twisted him around, locking the spear under his other elbow as well. He grunted as he felt himself roughly be pulled back wards, feeling the witch wrap her arms around him from behind. She flattened her palms against his chest, pressing her womanly curves into his back as she held him for a moment.

Her hot breath tickled at the back of his ear, “Mmmm…So forceful…” She walked her fingers down his abs and towards his belt as he lips brushed the back of his ear, “Maybe you’re a real man after all.”

Robin twisted sharply to free his arm, spinning with a long horizontal slash of his sword. It connected with nothing but air, as Aversa acrobatically dodged and flipped away. She casually brought the hand that had reached his belt up to her lips before running her tongue from her palm up the length of her slender middle finger. The taunt really felt like it was adding insult to injury at this point.

The fact that Aversa was merely playing with him had become obvious almost immediately. So far she hadn’t attacked him with a weapon, and while there had been those magic spikes, he wasn’t sure those really been aimed at him. What made it more obvious was the shifting Risen that had started to form a perimeter around where they were fighting. His head was already feeling fuzzy from the toll of fighting to keep the Risen away from Tiki before Aversa showed up. If she came at him seriously or even just commanded the gathered Risen to attack him, that would probably be the end of it.

Robin cursed himself for jumping into what was now an obvious trap. He’d thought that if he could defeat her he could end this fight right here. The bait of a quick victory and the rest that he knew all of the Shepards were waiting for had pulled him in. Now he stood, weaken and battered before a relatively combat fresh ace soldier of the Plegian army. With how he’d been caught like a mouse, it seemed appropriate that the white-haired witch was playing with him like a hungry cat toying with its food. He knew now that he never should have rushed off alone.

“Hyaaah!”

Both fighters turned their gaze to the edge of the circle of Risen that had become their battleground. A blue streak of movement cut through one of the undead soldiers, transforming it into a spray of dark magics and dust. The blue streak of movement rolled forward before promptly pushing up to a fighting stance, sword at the ready. Lucina glared down the length of her extended sword at the Plegian Dark Flier.

Aversa clicked her tongue at the unwelcome interruption, “Tch! I guess I’ll have to cut our dance short, little Robin.”

As she moved to slip away, Lucina took a half step forward, readying herself to take advantage of the moment the woman showed her back, “You’re not going anywhere!” She shifted her stance, drawing her sword back in chase she needed to leap forward.

Aversa narrowed her eyes, twisting the spear into her arm again as her eyes flicked back and forth between her two opponents. She brought her free hand up, catching the end of her thumbnail between her teeth as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. Things had very quickly gotten out of hand. She glared and gripped her spear a little tighter, triggering the electrical magic locked within it to dance along its tip. With all of these risen and the Bolt Lance in her hand, the odds were still in her favour.

“GRYAAAAAAUGHHH!!!”

The bestial roar shook the earth as a beam of bright green fire erupted from the trees, obliterating the Risen that happened to be in its path. Aversa brought her hand up to shield her eyes, wincing from the force and heat of the beam as it split through the battlefield and cut off her escape route. Her hair whipped against her face as the wind rushed past her in its retreat from the deadly blast of dragon breath. Aversa growled deep in her throat as she looked in the direction that the blast had come from.

Robin smirked softly as he brought his sword to the ready, “It’s over! Surrender!”

Lucina furrowed her brow, her fingers twitching slightly around the hilt of Falchion. Now that they’d removed her reinforcements the Dark Flier was at their mercy, the Ylissean heir knew that. If they were going to strike, now was the moment. They needed to put an end to this Plegian witch before she summoned more of her Risen monstrosities. Keeping her alive was just an unnecessary gamble.

Aversa let a long sigh slip past her lips as she dropped the Bolt Lance to the ground. Caught with a losing fight in front of her, and the fury of the Voice of Naga behind her, she too saw that there were few options left. The woman closed her eyes and dropped to her knees, interlocking her hands behind her head. A wicked smirk played across her lips as she decided to take advantage of the Shepard’s endless supply of mercy. Aversa knew that surrender didn’t have to mean defeat. There were plenty of cards that could only be played when your opponent thought you were defeated.

She slowly opened her violet eyes, taking in the trembling blue haired heiress as she trembled with rage and confusion. Aversa shifted her gaze to Robin, watching him through the veil of her eyelashes, “I suppose I’ve no other options.” Her tongue poked out slightly, tracing a sensual trail along her lips, “I guess I’ll get to see how _forceful_ your manly spirit really is…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Tiki is freshly powered up, will the Shepards decide that someone needs to engage her in certain activities in the hopes of producing another powerful child of the future? Will Lucina drown her sorrows in booze and surround herself with manly company to give her a moment of peace from her self-hatred and self-imposed guilt? Will Robin crumble to Aversa's amorous advances, or will he prove stronger than the seductive sorceress's sinful sexual solicitations? Tune in...right now!
> 
> Seriously, the next chapter is already up. Slap that "next chapter" button!


	2. A Hex Called Hopelessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recent battle where Aversa was captured has heightened the stress levels around camp. Some of the Shepards have their own methods for dealing with the horrors of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha. I'm spoiling you with two chapters instead of one because I've only got one more stop on my story roadmap before I get to the part where I wrote "Something Happens" because I don't know how to get from there to where I need to end up. I'm excited to get there and hopefully make some neat discoveries, but we might stall out for a bit pretty soon here.

“Damnit!” The shout pierced the dark shadowed halls of the Plegian castle. Validar curled his fingers tightly around the report that had come in from the field, his body shaking with a primal rage. He’d issued such a simple command. He’d sent more than enough fighters. There was no reason that he should have been reading a report of such abject failure! He slapped his palm against his forehead before slowly drawing it down, tracing his thumb and forefinger over the pencil-thin goatee that he wore on his face.

The dark haired arch-mage, and leader of the Grimleal religion wasn’t sure how much more failure he could take. Did his soldiers now know how their failures would be reflected on him as their leader? He narrowed his eyes, a cold sweat running down his spin. He couldn’t afford to look so weak in front of the dark god that he served. How could Aversa have failed him like this again? It was like she got some masochistic pleasure from being unable to do the things that were expected of her.

Suddenly his body stopped shivering with rage, in fact it stopped moving entirely. His eyes had gone wide as he felt the familiar pressure of a gaze being cast his way. His blood ran cold as he stared at the ground a few feet before him. Slowly the shivers returned to his muscles, but this time they weren’t the impassioned shudders of rage, but instead a symptom of his deep fear. His neck creaked as he slowly turned his gaze to the throne and the figure that was seated in it.

The voice that responded to Validar’s outburst was cold and unfeeling, “Something the matter?”

Validar moved quickly to straighten his posture looking down to avoid meeting the gaze of those empty black eyes. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed the hooded figure reclined in the throne, “Ah! I have a report…”

The pale skinned boy eyed Validar from beneath the low hood for a few more long moments. He didn’t move from his relaxed position, propping his head up with his palm against his cheek and his elbow against the arm of the throne. He slowly drummed the fingertips of his other hand against the other arm of the throne as he continued to watch Validar as if paralyzing him with his gaze.

After a long moment, the boy finally let out a soft sigh and turned his gaze away again, “Tell me.”

Validar let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before drawing his slim fingers to the golden emblem that hung from his neck, “Yes…” He paused, the corners of his lips twitching slightly as he calculated the best way to deliver the bad news, “The mission to prevent the awakening of Naga’s Voice was a failure.” He dropped to his knees, squinting as he prepared to accept the wrath of his superior as punishment for his failure.

The boy in the throne looked down at his kneeling subordinate with a practiced apathy. The silence between them was stifling, each long moment feeling like a cold vice around Validar’s heart. The dark skinned arch-mage had expected an explosion of rage, or a wave of agonizing force at this news. When he turned his gaze up, what he saw instead was the ghost-skinned boy in the throne looking…disinterested in the whole affair.

“A mortal girl pretending to wield the power of a goddess is a trivial matter that does not concern me.” The boy lifted his hand from the throne, holding it up before his face to inspect his fingernails, “Was there anything else?”

Validar felt his bottom lip twitch slightly, his eyes shooting back to the floor. Confessing his failures as a leader seemed like the dangerous choice, but not confessing them when pressed might be worse, “After a hard-fought battle, our Risen soldiers were either lost or scattered to the wilderness. While we were able to thin the Shepard’s infantry ranks, we were unable to claim the lives of any units of note.” He grit his teeth, hesitating to mention the most damning failure, “Also, Aversa was captured.”

The pale boy continued examining his nails carefully, “The one who called you father? Hmm…” His black eyes turned to the kneeling caster, “Are you requesting my permission to mount a rescue mission?”

Validar’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected anything that came close to this level of mercy. He worked his mind desperately though all of the various paths. Ultimately he frowned and turned his gaze away. While Aversa had the potential to be a useful warrior on the battlefield, her failures had far outstripped her potential. She was an anchor, and if he was unwilling to let her go, she’d pull him down with her.

“She’s just a failed experiment in my attempts to create a proper vessel for you on this earth.” He closed his eyes and took a breath to compose himself, “There’s no point extending ourselves for some random farm girl that I found. If need be, I can always make another.”

The heavy gaze of the boy shifted forward again, its pressure settling on the dark-skinned magician, “I see.” He brought his hand back down to the arm of the throne.

Validar shuddered softly pressing his fingers into the cold hard stone of the throne room floor, “I’ll make sure that none of these complications affect your revival.”

The boy in the throne chuckled softly as he reclined back into the throne, “Oh Validar, you forget…” His lips twisted ever so slightly into a malicious smirk, “I am the fell dragon Grima. My rise is inevitable.” He closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the back of the throne, “Even if Naga descended from the heavens herself, it won’t be enough to stop me.”

oOoOo

Pieces of armour lay scattered about the floor of the tent, carelessly discarded in haste. A sword in its sheath, still attached to the belt that had gone around the waist of its wielder was propped up against the edge of a bed. The light of the setting sun hit the sides of the tent, the low red glow filtering through the canvas, its dim red glow supplying a splash of colour to the shadows within. The warm red glow was comforting, like the inside of the tent was its own little world, cut off from the horrors of the day. It felt like a place where the brutal battles of the future were impossible fleeting thoughts.

Severa groaned, throwing her head back to let her long brown hair tumble over her shoulders. The dim red light lent its hue to the shimmer of her hair, making it seem closer to the vibrant red of her mother rather than the earthy brown of her father. She screwed her eyes shut as she shifted her hips back and forth, the bed beneath her letting out soft groans and squeaks of protest against her movement.

The naked man beneath her also let out soft groans, though the noises he made were less of protest, “Ah- I can feel -huff- the fiery passion burning -gah!- in my soul!” He closed his eyes tightly, pushing his head of messy brown hair into the pillow behind his head.

Severa grit her teeth, groaning in frustration as she felt a twitching thrust against her hips, “Stop -haaff- talking…”

The young mercenary girl curled her fingers into tight fists around the edges of Owain’s open yellow coat. Every syllable of his nonsense made her question the decisions that had led her to this place. She briefly wondered if it was too late to find a strip of fabric to gag him so that she could finish up in peace. She shook her head slightly, knowing that all of that chatter was really what let her know he was perfect for this.

Severa gasped when Owain’s hips rocked up to meet one of her thrusts. The thrust had hit a little bit hard, and pushed him a little bit deeper than he’d gone with just her thrusts alone. The pain mixed with pleasure jolted through her body, shaking her nerves and stealing her breath. A weak moan croaking out of her throat as her fingers shook and loosened their grip around his coat.

She placed her palms flat against the hot skin and hard muscles of her partner’s chest. Using her new grip as leverage, she sped up her own thrusts for a brief moment. The sudden wave of motion had caused Owain to shudder and moan beneath her, losing his own breath to their shared wave of pleasure. The warm sensation worked through her body, flooding her mind in a pink haze, letting her slip away into a daze again.

This was certainly not the most healthy coping method. Severa knew that if she asked anyone they’d tell her just that. At the moment, that wasn’t important. What mattered was that it felt good. What mattered even more than that was that in these lingering moments, it helped her forget. That was what she needed. She just needed to forget everything else for a minute, and this did that for her.

Right now she didn’t have to think about the recent battle with those terrible Risen monsters. She didn’t have to think about the rotting smell of decay that surrounded them. She could forget about the way that ghostly image of what they looked like in life would flicker every now and then to reveal the desiccated corpse that was their truth. She stopped thinking about the ghastly groans and howls that came from their throats, or those muttered words born from their obsession with whatever mission they’d been given.

All Severa wanted was to close her eyes and not see those hollow faces with their glowing red eyes waiting to haunt her nightmares. She just wanted a moment to forget that she’d been forced to watch those wretched creatures kill her parents. She just wanted to forget that she wore her strong face and pushed people away because she’d lived a future full of nothing but death and despair. Getting lost in the throes of passion granted her a respite from all of that weight. It might not have been healthy, but it worked.

“Ah! My sword hand! I c-can’t control it!” Owain groaned, his hands gripping at Severa’s naked hips. The shock pulled her out of her wandering thoughts, the light panic at him grabbing her causing her heart to race for a moment She was about to complain about him getting too handsy with her but the thought vanished the moment he pulled her down into a series of deep thrusts. Instead of chastising him with sour remarks, all that slipped past her lips was a weak and trembling moan, her body all too eager to respond to this new slightly rougher treatment.

Owain really was the perfect partner for Severa’s ‘therapy’. He didn’t back down to her abrasive attitude when she vented her frustration in the form of words. No matter what she said or did, he just kept going, spouting those dumb lines of his. While his constant nonsense could sometimes be grating, she knew in her heart that it was the same thing she was doing when she acted extra cold. He’d seen the same things she had, and just wore a different mask. Deep down, she knew he needed this as badly as she did.

Severa let out a sharp gasp as Owain’s grip on her hips got a little tighter and his thrusts grew a little rougher. Her senses buzzed, every nerve processing and savouring the sensations of him rocking his hips back and forth, slapping his hips up against hers to a sinful animalistic beat. She bit her lip, her grip slipping up to his shoulders tightly as he took control of their session. The audacity! Couldn’t he see that she was on top?

The mercenary girl tried weakly to fight against his grip and regain control, but knew it was a lost cause. This was the other reason Owain was perfect for this. He was one of the few people who didn’t treat her like she was glass and might break if he touched her too hard. He was the only one she could imagine that would dare to try and take control even though she was on top. She was tough, she could handle him losing control and going a little wild. A part of her actually tingled with excitement at the thought of him being even more forceful with her, but she’d never admit that.

“Ahnnn!” She moaned out, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold herself up against Owain’s constant assault. Every movement of his hard shaft between her folds set fireworks off in her head. The slight pain when he dug his fingers into her hips with bruising force heightened every jolt of pleasure. She shivered at the sound of his manly grunts, and the feel of his muscles flexing under her fingertips as he pulled her into each delicious thrust.

Now that she’d gotten him really started, Severa knew there wasn’t going to be any stopping Owain until he was good and done. She felt her shoulders shudder as a wave of pleasure took the strength from her body for a moment. A thrilling feeling started deep in her stomach at the thought that even if she collapsed, Owain wouldn’t let up. Her inner muscles quivered at the thought of letting herself be weak enough to fall forward and just give herself to Owain. She bit her bottom lip and struggled a little harder to hold herself up, not quite ready to face what giving in like that might actually mean.

This was just hot and heavy fucking. It didn’t have anything to do with stupid things like love. It wasn’t like Severa had ever thought about asking Owain to run away with her and hope Grima didn’t find them. She wasn’t some dumb girl who thought about finding a peaceful place to settle down and try and forget about the impending doom that was the fell dragon. She definitely wasn’t haunted by nightmares that the next fight might be her last. That time that they’d curled up to go to sleep after a hard ‘session’ and she’d snuggled into his warm embrace was because the tent had been too cold. It wasn’t like she loved him or anything.

Severa doubled her efforts to rock her hips against Owain’s thrusting, trying to forget the ridiculous girly thoughts that had wormed their way into her head. The friction of each of their thrusts caused a burst of white behind the young mercenary’s eyes. She felt the pressure build in her core, like a bow string being pulled tight, stretched almost to the snapping point. Her breathing came in short gasps as she tried to hold it back, trying to prolong the build-up to that beautiful release. The twitching of his had manhood let her know that neither of them had much longer. The rest of the world faded away, and all that existed for her was the boy, and their blinding blissful pleasure.

“Oh! Oh! Owainnnn!” Severa gasped out his name, her body shuddering under the wave of her orgasm. She felt every muscle in her body go taught. Her sex squeezed at him, pulsing as her body tried to milk its prize from the young man’s loins.

“Ughnn! My sword hand -ah!- trembles!” The self-proclaimed scion of justice pulled her tight, locking her hips against his as he too reached his release.

Severa shuddered and slumped over Owain as she felt him unleash his thick seed deep inside of her. His hips twitched slightly to signal another diminished release of his essence, each shaky movement coaxing another soft murmur of a moan from her lips. She laid her head down on his chest, closing her eyes and savouring the sensation of Owain leaving himself so deep within her. She could feel the warm sensation of it in her belly as he twitched against her a few more times.

The mercenary girl lingered there for a few long moments, listening to the rapid beat of Owain’s heart, and feeling his chest rise and fall under the force of his heavy breathing. Her bottom lip trembled as she felt Owain curl his arms around her body, holding her close. She felt the bittersweet sting of tears in her eyes as she buried her face in his chest. She wanted to stay here like this. More than anything in the world, she wanted to stay wrapped up in Owain’s arms. She wanted to forget about the Risen, and the Shepards, and Grima and all of the horrors of the world. She wanted to stay here in the one place that she’d felt safe since coming back to the past.

She pushed herself out of his grasp, shifting away to sit on the edge of his bed with her back to him. She couldn’t let him hold her. If she did she’d stay there, holding onto that brief moment of happiness until the world fell down around them. It was a trap that she couldn’t let herself fall into, “We have to get dressed.” She muttered the words as she scanned the room looking something she could use to clean herself up.

Owain brought his arm up, letting his forearm rest over his eyes, “Ugh…Can’t we just stay here a little longer?”

Severa felt a squeeze on her heart at hearing him voice the same wish that cried out from her soul. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip gently, “Lucina wanted to meet with us when we’d had a chance to rest up, remember?” She took a long breath, chastising herself for wanting to be selfish and stay here, “She wanted to talk to us about her plan to save the future.”

The yellow mercenary let out a mournful sigh as he felt Severa shift off of the edge of his bed so she could busy herself getting ready. He looked up as the light that had coloured the sides of the tent slowly began to dim with the setting sun. He understood how important the mission was, but sometimes Lucina’s focus on it could be frightening. The world wasn’t going to come to an end if they took a day off and went on a beach vacation or something.

It was too late to argue, and even if he did, it was too late to salvage the lost moment. Just like that, they were back to the mission to save everyone from a doomed future. Owain closed his eyes as his lips formed a rueful smile. Just like that, their shared respite from the agony of their duty was over. The grand quest to save the future was calling to them.

oOoOo

The Shepard’s _prison_ , if one could call it that, had been set up in a small ruined building of grey stone bricks. After countless years of battles and farmers attempting to protect their stores from bandits and the elements, these little ruined buildings dotted the landscape like wildflowers. Given their common nature, and how useful they’d been in the past, the Shepards had just made it a habit to try and set up camp near one or two of the little stone ruins.

The modifications that they’d done to make the broken and forgotten building into a prison had been relatively simple. It had involved a chain fed through a steel loop pounded into the ceiling locked to a wall at one end, with the prisoner held standing in manacles at the other. While it wasn’t very comfortable, it was far easier than carrying heavy doors and iron bars with them. It had also, after a few adjustments to keep casters from escaping the manacles with magic, proven to be effective.

Robin let out a soft sigh as he watched the dark skinned woman put on a show of bending her hips and presenting her chest while she ‘struggled’ against the chains. She curled her bottom lip between her teeth, shifting her weight from one side of her hips to the other. The chain jingled slightly with the movements that she was making, the long skirt that pooled down over her hips swaying as she shifted back and forth.

Aversa focused her gaze on the Shepard’s strategist, watching him through the curtain of her eyelashes, “I’m not used to being so helpless in front of a man.” She bent her hips a little more to further accentuate her curves as well as present her bountiful chest to him, “I must confess, it is a little exciting.”

Robin let out another exasperated sigh, “This isn’t amusing.”

Aversa licked her lips slowly as her eyes trailed down Robin’s body, sizing him up, “If you let me out of these chains, I could be _very amusing_.”

The strategist crossed his arms over his chest, “Tell me what you’re planning.”

“Mmmmm…” She slid her feet further apart, making a show of leaving herself open and vulnerable, “You want to make me say it _out loud_? Oh my…” Her eyes caught a glint of light as she cast him another seductive smile, “…How naughty…”

Robin groaned and looked up to the ceiling for a long moment. This was getting ridiculous. He was caught in an endless loop with this woman. Every time he tried to talk to her she’d just deflect with some innuendo. He supposed he could try to politely turn down those advances she was making, but something told him she wouldn’t believe him if he said he wasn’t interested. He’d noticed the looks that the guards had been giving her that had settled on the happy median between fear and arousal. His guess was that Aversa wouldn’t believe any man who told her they hadn’t fallen for the spell of her alluring body.

“You aren’t giving me anything to work with here.” He muttered softly as he turned his gaze back to her, “You have to give me something so I can convince them not to kill you. I already know that you’re planning on reviving the fell dragon so it can destroy the world. How do I stop it?”

Aversa’s face fell forward, her white hair falling to conceal her face. She stared down at the ground for a moment, her shoulders shaking. For a moment Robin thought that it was out of fear at the prospect that the Shepards really might kill her. That feeling of pity faded away when her heard her start to chuckle.

The white-haired woman threw her head back, her expression a warped mask of mania, “Stop it!?” She continued to shudder under the force of barely contained laughter, “Heh heh…You don’t even know what you’re asking!”

Robin closed his eyes slowly. It looked like he’d finally broken past that seductive act and got to the real person beneath. He was going to mark that down as progress, “So educate me.”

“It’s too late.” Aversa’s chuckles continued as she let her head fall forward, “You think that my failing to stop you means you’ve got a chance, but you’re lying to yourself. You’re like children trying to will the sun not to set.” She slowly lifted her head back up, her face painted with the colours of madness, “It won’t matter! Nothing can stop him, least of all you!”

Aversa snarled at him, curling her fists into tight balls and pulling at the chains as she stepped forward. Robin had taken half a step back before remembering that the chains still held her tight, and she wasn’t going to be able to get anywhere near him. He narrowed his eyes watching a bead of blood curl over the edge of her palm and down her wrist. Clearly she’d dug her nails so hard into her palms that she’d drawn blood. Robin wasn’t sure if that was a testament to the force she’d used, or evidence that Plegian witches really did sharpen their fingernails before going into battle.

“What do you mean, least of all me?” That line had struck Robin harder than anything else she had said. Had Grima come up with some sort of plan that directly targeted him? The thought that he had become the singular focus for the fell dragon’s rage was a little disconcerting.

The white-haired woman sneered at him, her shoulders still shaking with malicious chuckles, “It doesn’t matter now. He’s coming, and there’s nothing that anyone can do about it. You want to save yourself from him? You don’t want to see what he’ll do to all of your Shepard friends? I’d suggest you bury a dagger in your own heart before he gets to you.” Her chuckles evolved into soft laughter as she let herself dangle helplessly from her chains.

The strategist sighed, seeing that he wasn’t going to get much more than mad ramblings from her now. He turned slowly and began to walk out of the ruined home turned prison, “I hope you’ll be more helpful next time we talk.”

“Hehehe! That’s your problem, little Robin.” Her shoulders shuddered as she lifted her head to watch him go, “You’re still swallowing that poison you call hope!” Her laughter turned into manic cackles as he stepped outside, “You’ll learn soon enough!”

Robin took a deep breath of the air as he stepped out of the prison, glad to have a break from Aversa’s sudden madness. He cast an apologetic glance to the guardsman, who looked much more uncomfortable with guard duty now that Aversa’s mad laughter was echoing out of the one-room prison. It hadn’t been Robin’s intention to leave the situation in such an unsettling state. He brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, not looking forward to the prospect of trying to come up with a report for this at the war table.

“I don’t like you being alone with her.” The deep voice came from directly behind his shoulder, causing Robin to jump slightly at the surprise appearance.

“Ah. Tharja, you startled me.” Robin turned his eyes to the raven haired witch who seemed to have magically appeared out of the shadows, “Were you waiting for me?”

The dark sorceress turned her eyes away, her plush lips pushing into a sour pout as she hugged her tome to her chest, “She’s dangerous.”

Robin blinked, looking at the sour sorceress for a long moment before reaching up and raking his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. He really wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. The information that they could get from Aversa made it worth the risk to capture her. Now that she was in chains, most of the Shepards had calmed down, accepting that she wasn’t much of a threat anymore. It seemed that chains weren’t nearly enough to quell Tharja’s concern.

“She’s in chains. How is she going to hurt me?” Robin was a little disappointed that Tharja had such a bleak outlook when it came to his ability to defend himself.

It wasn’t like he could take her with him when he went to interrogate a prisoner. How would he get any answers if he looked like he had to hide behind his wife just to face Aversa? He supposed that they were both Plegian magic users. Maybe Tharja knew of a way that she could still be dangerous. Still, he worried that if Tharja had been there, Aversa might have found some way to get into her head. Who knew what kind of shared history the two might have had from their time serving Plegia?

Tharja’s narrowed her eyes as she looked at Robin, her pout growing a little bit more intense, “That’s not what I mean.”

At that moment things clicked into place in Robin’s head. From the moment that they saw each other, Aversa had been toying with him, playfully flirting and dropping sexual innuendos. Tharja had told him that Plegian sorceresses had honed their very bodies into weapons. When she had initially said it, he had thought she meant things like sharpened fingernails and martial arts. As he’d gained more experience with them, he’d realized that it was more than that, and part of the reason their outfits were so revealing was meant to distract their opponents with impure thoughts.

“Are you jealous?” Robin raised an eyebrow as he looked back to Tharja. That couldn’t be it, could it?

Tharja narrowed her eyes dangerously, glaring at Robin from beneath the edge of her ebony bangs, “Should I be?”

The strategist swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing too late the dangerous situation that he had stepped into. He looked away nervously and rubbed at the back of his neck for a moment, forcing out a nervous laugh, “O-Of course not.”

Tharja stepped closer to him slipping her book into her cape before brushing up against his arm. She slipped her fingers down to claim his hand by interlacing her fingers with his. She was still pouting and glaring at him as she began to wrap herself around the strategists arm. Slowly the fingers of her free hand began their journey up his arm as she leaned her face closer to his. Robin shivered slightly as the shadowy woman clung to his arm.

“Just to be sure…” Tharja’s breath tickled at Robin’s ear while she brought her lips closer, “I’ll help you forget about her…”

Robin shuddered softly, as he felt Tharja’s hand venture over his shoulder and then slowly work its way down over his chest. Given Tharja’s personality, nothing he could say was going to convince her to let go of him. More importantly, he wasn’t sure that anything he could say at this point would slow her progress to making good on her threat. He’d make a report on the fact he hadn’t gotten any information from Aversa in the morning. Right now decency demanded that he take Tharja somewhere private before she started to do anything while they were in public.

As he turned the last corner before their shared tent, Robin was stopped by a sight that he hadn’t been expecting. A group of the future children had gathered in front of his tent and seemed to be waiting for him. He winced sightly as the weight of work rolled up, threatening to crush his private time with his wife. He took a hold of her hand at the wrist, trying to non-verbally persuade him to at least have a few more moments before she did anything indecent to him.

Lucina stood in the lead position her sword hand resting on the hilt of Falchion at her hip. Robin could guess what this was about. Taking a prisoner who had obviously been able to control and lead the Risen was bound to lead to this kind of a situation. They’d question his wisdom, tell him that they shouldn’t suffer her to live, especially in their ranks. He’d have to reassure them that they were all safe here, and they’d mention their concerns that she could still be controlling Risen. Eventually it would boil down to an argument, and he’d have to remind them that they weren’t in the business of killing unarmed prisoners.

“Robin.” Lucina’s voice was cold as she uttered his name, her face baring the dispassionate expression of a soldier ready to carry out an execution order.

The strategist let out a long sigh as he looked to the horizon, watching the last flickering of the evening sun as it vanished beyond the horizon, “It’s late. Do we need to do this now?”

Falchion let out a metallic growl, scraping against its sheath as Lucina drew it. Her expression remained constant as she moved into a battle stance. Robin narrowed his eyes slightly, as he lifted his arm reflexively to shield Tharja behind him. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but it seemed that this had immediately upgraded itself from an argument to a proper fight. His eyes looked to the other children of the future, seeing hints of uncertainty in some of their faces as they spread out to form semi-circle in front of him.

Robin’s eyes scanned about group of fighters that had gathered around him, quickly strategizing which way he’d need to turn if things actually started, “Alright then. I guess we’ll do this now.” Warning bells were going off in the back of his mind as he registered the uncertain expression on Cynthia’s face, or the way that Owain kept looking away to avoid eye contact.

“Please understand.” Lucina’s voice was still cold and empty as she stood at the ready, “This isn’t personal.” Her boots scraped against the earth as she shifted to lower her centre of gravity, “I have no other choice.”

With no further warning, the blue-haired sword wielder dug her toes into the earth, and launched forward to deliver a fatal blow to save the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That feels like a good place to stop for a minute, right?
> 
> Will union between Severa and Owain produce some sort of future, future child? Will they run off like star-crossed lovers, changing their names to...I don't know, maybe Selena and Odin? How many of our heroes will survive this duel of doubt, and despair? Will Lucina be able to live with herself once she's cut down the Shepard's strategist to fulfil her destiny of stopping Grima? How will Chrom respond when he discovers that his future daughter has killed his best friend, and the only man he's ever loved!? Tune in next time! Same bat-time! Same bat-channel!


	3. A Hex Called Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucina wins the other future children over to her side, and initiates her quest to kill Robin before he can become the horrible fell dragon Grima.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some edits to the first chapter, made the Grima scene less overtly rapey (but still probably as terrible) and fix up that other thing that was wrong. If you want to go back and read the new version, that's cool, if you don't, that's cool too because what I changed doesn't really change much else in the story.
> 
> I also found a couple of typos (whoops). Like always, my thoughts on typos and the like are; If you see something say something, that way I learn for next time and there are less problems for the next person who reads it.

The cool evening air felt nice as the sun continued its slow march downward. Lucina looked off into the red sky, narrowing her eyes slightly as she waited for the rest of the future children to gather. She’d spread word that she needed to talk on the way back from the recent mission. She’d instructed them to rest and recover from their wounds, but that she could use their help. Before the sun completely vanished over the horizon they needed to meet. Getting it done soon was the important part. If she waited too long she might lose her nerve again.

The decision wasn’t motivated by hate or fear. She didn’t _hate_ Robin. It was what he was going to become. Even if he seemed like a friend now, one day that was going to change. One day he’d turn into that black cloud that hung over them, pouring a rain of blood and death over all of the land. She hadn’t made her choice lightly. It was her duty to stand up, and by challenging the fated future, end it.

At first she’d tried a more direct approach to convincing her allies. Kjelle had requested additional time to think about it, not convinced that it was the honourable thing to do. After Lucina had explained it to Brady, he’d said it didn’t sound like the sort of thing his healing skills could help with. Cynthia had seemed unsure about it but had been willing to join as long as no one was forced to participate in this plan. It was Cynthia’s response that had caused Lucina to invite any of the rest she thought might be sympathetic to her plan so she could explain it to them all at once..

Cynthia shifted in place as she looked towards her sister. She was still insecure about all of this. Her eyes shifted back and forth as she secretly hoped that no one else would come. Maybe if everyone stayed away they could say that they’d tried and move on. Maybe if no one showed up, Lucina would see that she hadn’t thought this all of the way through. She bit her bottom lip and gripped her lance a little bit tighter, her heart struggling to balance the scales of what they would soon be plotting to do.

The first member to join them was the one that Lucina knew would be the hardest to convince. Noire held her bow close to her chest, her eyes shifting back and forth before settling on the ground before her. She didn’t say anything to mark her arrival, instead just huddling in on herself as she waited for this ‘strategy meeting’ to start. Lucina wasn’t sure how to start trying to convince Noire that killing her father was the only way to save the future. All she really knew was that Noire deserved to have a vote on this.

Laurent and Nah arrived at around the same but from opposite sides of the small clearing amongst their tents. Laurent’s glasses flashed slightly as he adjusted them, pushing them up his nose. Lucina assumed that if anyone would understand the cold logic of it all, it would be Laurent. Nah had settled near a corner of the grouping, lacing her fingers together as she waited for things to begin. Getting her to agree might require a more emotional touch. Both were likely to understand that the benefits outweighed the cost given the right explanation.

Lucina turned her eyes as they were joined by the two stragglers that she’d been waiting on. She looked over Severa and Owain for a moment before closing her eyes and letting out a sigh. It was perfectly clear to her what the two of them had been doing. She wanted to chastise them for doing something that would impair their focus on the battlefield. She supposed she’d let it slip since it was a thing that was worth fighting for.

The rest had either informed Lucina that they wouldn’t be coming, or in the case of Morgan, hadn’t been invited. Lucina knew that Morgan would have been one of the ones the most deeply impacted by what she had to say. She also knew that with the gaps in Morgan’s memory, nothing that they could have said would have ever swayed the girl. She didn’t remember the horror and destruction that Grima had brought down upon the land. She’d lash out at them before they had a chance to do anything.

“I know how to stop Grima.” Lucina didn’t bother with the standard beginning for a strategy meeting. They didn’t need the ceremony involved in a standard strategy meeting. That wasn’t the kind of relationship that they had. After seeing so much death in the future, she knew they all just wanted the facts. What they wanted was the spark of hope and the steps to make it real.

Most of the grouping was stunned into silence at the simple comment. Laurent was the first to break the silence, “I believe you have everyone’s attention, Lucina.”

Lucina turned her eyes to Laurent, nodding quickly before she looked around the rest of the group, “You were all there when Tiki connected with Naga. You all saw the ritual.” She tried not to dwell on the specific memories that mission had brought to mind, “I know the person who is going to connect with Grima the way Tiki connected to Naga.”

Cynthia shifted uncomfortably, already knowing where this conversation was going. She looked down to her feet, grinding the toe of her boot into the dirt. Everyone was cautiously optimistic with what Lucina had said so far, but Cynthia already knew what the snag was. They’d all be excited at first. How many of them were going to feel the same uncertainty that had been eating at her heart when Lucina mentioned the cost. Would they still be up for it when they learned that it wasn’t some nameless villain that they were going to have to kill.

“Alright. Point me at the Plegian knave!” Owain pumped his fist forward, causing Severa to roll her eyes and look away, “As a hero of legend I’ll-!”

“It’s Robin.” Cynthia cut in, her shoulders shuddering as she gripped onto her lance. She couldn’t let Owain go on, couldn’t let him speak like that while she knew what he was actually saying.

Lucina’s expression remained that of the stoic soldier. While she’d intended to be the one to reveal Robin’s truth, she understood Cynthia’s desire to get it out of the way. She closed her eyes, taking a long breath as she felt the tension build to the snapping point as everyone absorbed this new information. They’d all been through the same things she had, they’d understand in time.

“That…” Noire felt her bottom lip shiver as she looked at Lucina with pleading eyes, “That’s not true…right?”

It couldn’t be true. Noire had always imagined that one of her parents was a terrifying inhuman monster, but it had never been Robin that she’d suspected. Robin was the one that had always protected her, had always held her when she was scared. When she’d found herself lost and helpless surrounded by bandits in this timeline, Robin had been the one who had taken her hand. It couldn’t be true that Robin was going to become some terrifying black dragon and kill everyone. Could it?

Lucina spoke softly, “I saw his face before following you all through the portal.”

“So we just have to stop him from performing the ritual, right?” Nah spoke up, stepping over to Noire and resting a hand on the archer’s shoulder to offer some support.

The heiress shook her head slowly, “I can’t imagine Robin would willingly participate in such a ritual. It must be something that happens _to_ him.”

Laurent furrowed his brow slightly crossing his arms over his chest, “I suppose that’s not impossible.” He squeezed his arms a little but, seeming to go deeper into thought, “If Tiki can connect to Naga it would be reasonable to assume that Grima might be able to connect to someone. It seems improbable that we could just stop it without knowing how it happens.”

Lucina nodded slowly. It being something that happened to Robin was what she assumed as well. She’d also considered the possibility that something had happened to Robin and in a moment of weakness he had agreed to something out of desperation. The more she had thought about the grandmaster and his strategic mind, the less likely it seemed that any version of him in the future had been tricked like that. The most likely scenario was that something in Robin’s forgotten past had primed him to be Grima’s vessel, and there was no way to know what.

Noire shivered softly as she hugged her bow, “S-So you’re planning to k-k-kill him before it happens?” Her bottom lip trembled as she faced the truth of Lucina’s plan.

“If this was just a question of your father or mine, I wouldn’t be suggesting this.” Lucina spoke softly as she looked to Noire, “What if when he’s taken over he’s still aware? What if he’s forced to watch as he kills our parents? When we do this, we aren’t just saving everyone else, we’re saving Robin’s soul.”

Severa furrowed her brow, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down, “You’ve known all this time…” She slowly looked up, matching Lucina’s stoic expression with her own, “You didn’t just come up with this today.”

Lucina frowned and nodded again. She’d expected the realization that she’d known Robin’s face the moment she saw him to cause a stir. The longer she kept that information to herself, the more she knew it would sting when it came out. Even though she’d done it for them, to protect them from the horrible truth, she knew some would hate her for it. She was prepared for Severa to cut her down and chew her out for having not having enough trust in them. She was prepared to shoulder everyone’s hate for what had to be done.

“Then there isn’t really any point in discussing what has to happen.” Severa shrugged and looked out towards the setting sun. It was horrible, but it was just math. Lucina had been the first of them to find the Shepards, the first one to meet Robin. She’d been thinking about this all that time. It meant, in all this time, this was the only way she’d found to save them all from an ocean of blood and tears, “How do we do it?”

The blue-haired heiress took a long breath, relieved that she didn’t have to fight the young mercenary woman on this, “This was my decision. I’ll be the one to do it.” She held her head high as she looked around the rest of the group that she’d gathered, “I appreciate your help, but your help is all I need. You shouldn’t have to carry the weight of what I must do.”

Owain furrowed his brow, taking a half step forward. He looked like he was about to voice some sort of protest, but when his lips parted, nothing came out. This felt wrong, but he knew how it had gotten here. He remembered the terrifying future that they’d all run from. He remembered seeing his parents die, remembered the bitter tears when bloody wedding rings were all that were brought back from the battlefield. Doing this meant that they’d never have to feel that pain. It meant he’d never have to cry those bitter tears as they all realized they’d become orphans.

Cynthia hugged her lance to her chest as she looked around to her friends as they resigning themselves to this horrible solution. Was this really right? Was this what being a hero of justice looked like? They’d been given a horrible solution to end an even more horrible situation. Lucina had been thinking about this all this time, so Cynthia knew there couldn’t be any other option. When they did, she wasn’t sure if she could still hold her head high as a hero.

oOoOo

The sun finally vanished over the edge of the horizon as Lucina lunged forward with a long slash from Falchion. The tip of the blade caught Robin in the shoulder as he moved to dodge. The sword sliced through the fabric of his jacket, biting into the flesh beneath before moving on. A few droplets of blood formed a grisly arc between Robin’s shoulder and the end of Lucina’s slash. For a moment it was as if time stood still, searing pain radiating from Robin’s shoulder, the blood hanging in the air as it fell off Lucina’s blade.

Robin stumbled back, his hand coming up to the fresh wound on his shoulder. A look of confusion and pain on his face. Sure he’d been expecting this to be a bit of a disagreement, but never for it to actually come to blows. Lucina was usually the type to think things through and come to a logical conclusion. Why was she suddenly attacking him? Had she known he’d instinctively dodge, or had that attack been meant to hit him square on?

A bolt of black energy came from over his shoulder, burning through the air in an instant. Lucina twisted her wrist, bracing her sword with both arms to block the magical attack with her legendary weapon. Her feet skidded on the ground as she was pushed back slightly by the force of the blast of dark magic. Her eyes narrowed as she turned her attention from Robin to the dark mage who stood behind him.

The strategist shot his arm out, using his bloody hand to shield Tharja and push her back a bit, “Don’t hurt them!” This was just a misunderstanding. If any of the children got hurt it was just going to escalate beyond recovery. What they needed now was to focus on escape. If they could just get some distance from this madness they could all cool down and find a rational solution.

Tharja narrowed her eyes as she traced her fingers over the pages of her open tome, “You always have such difficult demands.”

Robin turned using the distance that Tharja’s attack had granted him to disengage from Lucina. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Owain move in to cut off his escape route. The yellow mercenary had a pained expression on his face. Owain muttered an apology as he readied his sword. Robin curled his fingers into fists and dug his heel into the dirt as he changed course again.

After recovering from blocking Tharja’s magical attack, Lucina wasted little time in closing in on Robin once more. The edge of her sword flashed as it split through the air. Without a sword of his own, no one could have expected Robin to launch a counter attack. That was the advantage that he pressed. He lunged forward, stepping too far into Lucina’s sphere of influence for her sword to hit. Lucina’s eyes went wide as Robin grappled her sword arm with one hand, while grabbing the collar of her cape with the other.

The struggle was hard. While Robin knew his way around a sword, he had split his training with the study of magic. Lucina’s training was singularly focused on using the legendary blade, Falchion. Robin could not match her in physical strength. He felt the muscles in his arms shake and tremble as he tried to hold Lucina too close to attack. It was all a gambit built on the hope that Owain wouldn’t stab him in the back while he struggled with the heiress.

There was a crackling of magical energy followed by a flash of light from another bolt of dark magic. With a thundering boom there was an explosion of dust and earth, creating a thick choking cloud in the air. The grit and dust stung at eyes and burned at lungs, casting a veil over the combatants. Lucina narrowed her eyes when she felt the pressure leave her wrist. She coughed as she swung her sword down hard, connecting with nothing but dust and air. Her eyes shot back and forth quickly, trying to search through the cloud of dust to track down the missing strategist.

Robin and Tharja burst out of the cloud of dust, making a dash for another possible escape route. While he knew that Tharja had complained about the limitations of not hurting the children, he’d known she was capable. Firing her magic into the ground to kick up a smokescreen and cover their escape was pure genius. He had to admit, the reminder of how adaptable Tharja could be made him fall a little bit more in love with her. He felt safe knowing that she was watching his back, a wall of defence to keep Lucina from catching up to them.

Cynthia shifted nervously, her eyes flashing back and forth between the cloud of smoke and the escaping strategist. She bit her lip before pushing off the earth and dashing into an intercept course. Her pigtails flapped behind her head as she dashed forward and skidded to a stop in front of Robin and Tharja to block their path. With a quick flourish she had slid into an uncertain battle stance, her arms trembling as she held her lance at the ready.

“Out of the way!” Robin barked as he brought his fist up to defend himself if Cynthia moved to attack.

Cynthia took a half step back, her body shaking as she tried to stop herself from backing down. “I…” She tightened her grip on the lance as she looked at Robin, trying to muster up the last of her courage to stand in his way, “I can’t.”

Robin narrowed his eyes “Then you’re sentencing me to die.”

None of this was making any sense. If this had just been about Aversa, they could have started with that. Fighting this hard was overboard. They’d made their point. Right now, Robin would have agreed that she was too dangerous to keep around. It was pretty clear that this wasn’t just about their Plegian prisoner. They were aiming to claim his life. The why of it was a mystery to him, but there had to be a why. They wouldn’t have just decided to randomly attack him.

“I…We don’t have a choice.” Cynthia swallowedthe doubt in her throat readying her lance in case Robin tried to force his way past her.

Robin closed his eyes and lowered his fists slowly, “I don’t understand.”

The blue-haired hero-worshiper stared at Robin, her whole body shaking as she watched him. Her eyes flashed over to Tharja who stood at his back, scanning the dust cloud as she waited for the heiress to follow them. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. How could Robin be the one that turned into the terrifying monster? He was their friend, part of their family. He wasn’t even trying to force his way past her. Maybe in the future he’d become a villain, but he wasn’t one yet. This wasn’t right. There was nothing heroic about standing in his way.

Cynthia lowered her lance, her bottom lip trembling as she looked down at the ground, “Go.” The word was little more than a whisper. Tears stung at her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as she stepped aside. She couldn’t stop Lucina from chasing Robin, but she couldn’t stand in his way either. If this was the way to be a hero, then she wasn’t sure she still wanted any part in it.

Robin nodded softly, slipping past Cynthia, “Thank you.”

The path ahead of them seemed relatively clear, but Robin wasn’t willing to slow down if he didn’t have to. As long as they were amongst the tents they could get cut off from the side. He had to admit, this attack had been well planned.

Among the tents they’d been able to cut off his escape routes and keep the battle contained. The timing of the attack had also been perfect. Most of the rest of the Shepards were getting ready for sleep, or eating their last meal of the day. None of them were likely to be wandering camp, and if they were, none of them would be in a position to help him. Their best shot was to clear the camp and open up their routes of egress.

As they were nearing the edge of camp, there was a crackling burst of magic that split across their path. Robin’s run ground to a halt at the wall of fire that had burst from the earth before them. The strategist narrowed his eyes, looking beyond the dancing flames to see the silhouette of a mage beyond it. The wide brimmed hat cast a shadow over the young man’s face, but the way that the flickering lights of the flames reflected off of his glasses as he pushed them up his nose betrayed his identity. Getting through a genius caster like Laurent without shedding blood was going to be quite the challenge.

“Hyaah!”

Robin barely dodged the quick sword slash that had been launched from his side. His eyes went wide as the brown haired mercenary girl spun around in an attempt to follow up on her missed strike. Robin could feel the wind off of each one of Severa’s slashes as they shaved by him. He winced every time the edge of the blade caught on his clothes, or nicked at his skin. He was barely able to keep up with Severa, and if Laurent launched another spell, that was game over.

He wasn’t surprised by their skill. They’d all proven themselves to be more than capable warriors. He supposed this kind of teamwork was something he should have been expecting from them. They’d all struggled to survive together in a dark and apocalyptic future. Robin had fought bandits, Plegians, and Risen, but they’d cut their teeth with a constant war for survival against legions of monsters. His strength was born out of a desire to bring peace back to the land, theirs had been born out of their desperate struggle for survival.

A wave of crackling energy bolted in, sweeping Severa off her feet through the diminished wall of flame. Tharja narrowed her eyes dangerously at both Severa and Laurent of before discarding her spent spell tome and continuing their retreat. She took a hold of Robin’s hand roughly pulling him behind her as she took the lead in their escape. Once again, Robin was impressed by her adaptability and skill, but with her tome turning to dust, he couldn’t help but worry. They were quickly running out of options.

The two continued their desperate run through the tents of the camp. Robin spotted a pair of tired looking guards working on lighting a torch to cast some light on the quickly encroaching darkness of night. For a brief moment he thought about calling out to them to enlist their help. Instead he bit his tongue. There was no point in pulling them into this. While Tharja had been willing to listen to his selfish demand that they not hurt the children, the guards might be harder to convince. Even if he could sway the guards to the path of non-violence, the children seemed pretty set to their path. Getting them involved would only mean getting more people hurt.

They’d actually been pretty lucky with how few people they’d run into on this little adventure. As long as it was just the future children against him and Tharja, he had a chance to contain the chaos. He wondered if maybe this had been planned, and Lucina had placed her forces in ways meant to direct them away from the rest of the populated areas in the camp. It made him feel a little bit better about all of this if he thought that she was also working to keep casualties to a minimum. In either case, when he finally cleared the camp everyone was going to be a lot safer.

What was he going to do when he made it out of camp? He hadn’t really been given enough time to think about the next step in his plan. They’d started their attack, he’d set his objective to getting himself out of the camp to limit potential casualties and give himself some more options. What did he do then? Did he run away from the Shepards for a little bit until things had a chance to cool down? If he made it out of the perimeter of the camp, what was the chance that they’d stop long enough for him to actually come up with a plan?

Robin looked up to the path ahead of them, seeing the silhouette of a slim girl with long pointed ears standing in their way. Robin shook his head quickly before pushing his foot into the ground and turning them down another path. There wasn’t even a point in going forward when Nah, the future Manakete, was in their way. The moment she used her magical stone and turned into a dragon, his hope of not having collateral damage went out the window.

Tharja gasped softly as they continued to run, “This wasn’t -huff- how I thought we’d -huff- spend our evening.”

Robin smirked weakly. He had a general idea of what Tharja had intended for them to do this evening. He also would have much preferred that to running around the camp dodging death. If they both survived the night, he wondered if she’d bee too tired to pursue her original plans for the evening. All he really knew was that he’d be too happy that they survived to deny the shadowy woman anything that she asked of him.

“There’ll be time -ha- for that when this is all -huff- over.” He smiled weakly, knowing that saying such things meant that even when they were done running, he wasn’t going to get any rest.

Tharja smirked as she looked over to him, “Then we’d better -huff- pick up the pace. I can still feel magic in the air, so they can’t be far behind.”

The last of the tents were quickly coming up. Robin smiled softly as he looked out to the open field, knowing that once he got there he’d finally be able to do more than just run away. He tightened his grip on Tharja’s hand as they continued to run desperately. He could hear the sounds of some of pursuers a little ways away. He knew he’d have a few minutes to figure things out before they caught up to him. That was all he’d ever needed. A few minutes to catch his breath and a handful of options, and he’d come up with a plan. That’s what he did. He was a strategist.

They cleared the edge of the tents and Robin felt a flash of relief wash over him. They’d made it. He could finally relax a little. They raced into the clearing, Robin taking note of all of the directions. The most obvious was to continue racing forward across the valley to the hill and the forest beyond. There was a lot of running before they got there, but once they made it to those trees, they could lose their pursuers. The other options were running along the edge of the camp. Eventually they’d get somewhere where Robin could get the attention of the other Shepards. He closed his eyes quickly calculating which option would yield the best results.

“Ghhn!” A sharp bolt of pain shot through Robin’s leg as he stumbled forward into the ground. His hands shot down just below his knee hot wet blood seeping through his fingertips as he gripped at the arrow that had sprouted from his leg. He winced, shifting slightly as he gripped at the shaft of the arrow, trying to ignore the searing pain that had instantly racked his body.

That had been something he hadn’t been expecting. Any of the other children from the future made sense, but he wasn’t sure what to make of Noire being part of this as well. The realization that even his own daughter was part of this stung almost as much as the arrow itself. It meant this had to be about something. He didn’t understand what it was, but she’d have never gone this far without good reason.

Tharja growled and spun around, her dark eyes settling on the form of a shaking sniper who was standing near the edge of the camp. The witch glared daggers at the white-haired girl who shivered and shrunk away into the tents. Before she could chase after the young terrified girl from the future, she felt Robin’s hand around her ankle. She looked back to Robin’s face, twisted in pain as he shook his head slowly.

“Don’t…” Robin forced his face into a weak smile, “It’s not her fault.” He winced slightly as he looked past Tharja to Noire as she collapsed to the ground twisting her body to look away from them.

The witch took a slow breath, her shoulders shuddering as she turned her eyes back to the path that they’d come from. She watched the blue-haired heiress, her dash after them slowing to a walk as she left the edge of the camp. This was all her fault. There was no way that Noire could have found the strength to stand up against them on her own. Robin was right. This wasn’t Noire’s fault. Somehow Lucina had gotten into her head.

“I’m sorry that it had to be this way.” Lucina spoke up as she slowly came to a stop a handful of steps away from them. Her arm hung low to her side with the weight of her legendary sword, “I have to stop you before you become Grima.”

Ah, so that was it. Robin closed his eyes, and let out a weak, rueful chuckle. Given how he couldn’t remember anything before Chrom and Lissa finding him in that field, anything was possible. Perhaps he always had been some vessel for the fell dragon. Maybe it was remembering something that he’d forgotten that triggered the change. Anything was possible. He could tell from the look in Lucina’s face that she had no doubt of what she was accusing him of. Somewhere in her past and their future, she must have seen him become that horrid monster. If that was the case, maybe she was right.

Tharja shifted into a fighting stance, her hands flexing as she bared her fingernails at the approaching woman. There wasn’t any more running. Robin wasn’t getting up with that arrow in his leg, and even if he did, there was no running away to get it treated by one of the healers. Even though she’d promised not to hurt the children, she was out of options. Even if if wasn’t the way that Robin wanted her to defend him, she was prepared to bite and scratch until the bitter end.

The witch snarled as she eyed Lucina, “I won’t let you touch him.” Grima or not, Robin was hers, and she wasn’t about to let anyone take him away from her.

Lucina let out a soft sigh, “I’m sorry.” She half crouched down, swinging the sword forward in a quick movement to hit the witch with the flat of her blade.

Tharja grunted as she met the strike with her shoulder before taking a step forward to lash out with those vicious nails of hers. The blue-haired heiress dodged the slashing nails, narrowing her eyes slightly as the witch continued to move forward, slashing with her claw-like fingers. Lucina dropped her shoulder before taking the half step forward, burying the shoulder guard into Tharja’s gut and sending the witch staggering back.

“This is the only way.” Lucina muttered as she straightened herself up again, “Please step aside. Don't make me hurt you.”

The shadowy witch dug her heels into the ground widening her stance and casting a glare that could curdle milk at the woman before her, “Just try it! We’ll see who gets hurt!”

The heiress let out another long sigh, a slight sadness breaking through the cool composure of her expression. She understood Tharja’s pain and her ire. She knew that fierce passion, that desire to stand up and face anything that might hurt the ones she loved. She’d seen that kind of desperation before. She’d seen too many people standing like that, armed with fierce growls as they fought waves of monsters to protect her and her friends. Tharja couldn’t understand that this was necessary. No amount of explaining it to her would make it sink in. It was regrettable, but it seemed the only thing that would make her move was force.

Lucina stepped forward again, with another strike with the flat of Falchion’s blade. Tharja blocked, but before she could lash out with those claws of hers, Lucina had brought her knee up into the witch’s stomach. Tharja choked out a gasp as the wind was knocked out of her, and was unable to stop the second swing of Lucina’s sword. The flat of the blade struck her in the ribs, knocking her over and out of the way. While Tharja may have been deadly in the use of dark magics, without a spell tome, she couldn’t hope to match Lucina’s battle skills.

This was what it cost to save the future. This was the only way that they could crush the evil that was Grima before he had a chance to unleash so much death and pain. This was the end of her mission. After this it didn’t matter what happened. She was strong enough to shoulder all of their hate and anger. As long as she didn’t have to see them all die, any punishment they decided on would be fair. It was a price she was more than willing to pay.

Lucina staggered as a weight struck her from the side. She righted herself after taking a step, looking back quickly to see the dark witch who’d tackled her crouching over Robin. Lucina let out another frustrated sigh as she curled her fist tighter around the handle of her sword. Why wouldn’t she stay down? Couldn’t she see that this was already hard enough? There weren’t any other options! This was the only way.

“Please…” Lucina stepped forward again, looking down at the witch who was trying to cover Robin’s body under her cape, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Robin groaned softly, “It’s fine…” He brought his hand up, gently pushing at Tharja’s shoulder. There was no point in both of them dying over this. If Lucina was right about everything, he couldn’t argue with the logic she’d found in killing him. If she was wrong…well, he supposed he wouldn’t be around to worry about that, “If my choices are this or becoming Grima, I-”

“Shut up!” Tharja growled, glaring at him for a moment before turning her eyes back to Lucina, “I won’t let you take him away from me!” She grit her teeth and spat her words at the heiress, “I’ll die before I stand down!”

Lucina looked down at them for a long moment. She hadn’t expected to have her resolve tested quite like this. She knew that she was going to end up being the focus of Tharja’s hate when it was done, but had never considered that she’d have to cut through her to complete the mission. She’d assumed Tharja would still be alive to hate her. The heiress felt her sword-hand twitch for a moment before she closed her eyes, remembering her resolve. She’d be leaving Noire and Morgan as orphans, but the rest of the Shepards would step up. The rest of the Shepards would still be alive to step up.

The heiress raised her sword slowly, as she looked down at the witch and the strategist that she was protecting, “I’m sorry. There’s no other way.”

As Lucina moved to bring her sword down, the pair before her were enveloped in a green glow. The heiress narrowed her eyes, squinting through the dancing green sparks that floated away from their forms as she brought her sword down. She felt her sword move down. She felt it pass through air. She felt it strike into the soft earth. There had been nothing between. She stared down at the lingering green sparks around where her sword had struck the earth. Her fingers twitched around the hilt of her sword, the familiar bitter taste of failure fresh in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun, right? I hope we've all enjoyed it, because the next chapter is where I hit that spot where I've written down "something happens" so it might take a while until I can answer questions like:
> 
> Did Tharja and Robin just explode into a shower of experience points? Will Chrom and Sumia be forced to adopt Noire and Morgan? Speaking of Morgan, what was she doing this whole time? Am I going to skip the whole Walhart plot-line because I don't actually remember anything about it? Seriously, what was his deal? Was he holding onto one of the stones they needed to make the fire emblem work or something? Will the Shepards be able to weather the storm brought on by Lucina's plan? Now that Robin and Tharja have been hit so hard that they burst into green fluffy lights, who will lead the Shepards in their quest to defeat the real Grima? Tune in next time! Same bat-time! Same bat-channel!


	4. A Hex Called Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After surviving the attempt on his life, Robin is faced with the challenge of dealing with the grim consequences of the doomed prophecy of his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right. I'm still not dead.
> 
> Really though, sorry this took so long.

A soft green glow reflected off of the swaying blades of grass and the trees at the edge of the forest. The light held the gentle kind of warmth that could heal wounds and replenish weakened muscles. A soft breeze rustled the leaves in the trees as the warm green light finally began to fade away. The pale light of the rising moon and the stars in the night sky cast enough illumination to see even without the green glow.

Down the hill and across a field from the edge of the forest was a collection of old ruined buildings and tents. The camp was slowly coming to life with dots of light from torches to light paths, and camp-fires to warm hands and cook meals. Parts of the camp had burst into motionas guards and scouts scurried around, eager to report the events of the evening or being deployed to deal with it. Nothing set a camp into motion quite like a fight.

For Robin, the first thing to take note of was that he was not where he had been moments before, “Did we die?”

Tharja let her head slump down, curling her fingers into a fist before gently punching Robin in the shoulder, “No, but you certainly tried, didn’t you?”

Robin winched at the impact, his shoulder still quite tender from Lucina’s attacks, “I deserve that.” He hadn’t forgotten the look on her face when he’d tried to convince Tharja to save herself by abandoning him to die.

The dark witch bit her bottom lip as she looked down at the strategist for a few long moments, still crouched over him. How could he have thought about leaving her like that? It hurt her to her soul that he thought she’d be willing to live without him. She took a firm hold on either side of his coat, pulling him closer as she leaned into him, pushing her face into his chest. She shuddered softly as she held him close. Her body shuddered softly as she finally let all of the anxiety and fear escape her body in the form of bitter tears.

The strategist brought one arm up around the shaking witch, holding her close. He traced his fingers over her back, letting out a long breath as he held her in his arms. With the danger that they’d just been through, and how close he’d come to death, he wanted to savour these moments with her. Somehow they’d managed to escape the grasp of the reaper, and this warmth felt like the perfect reward for those efforts.

Being saved was quite the blessing, but it had left Robin with a number of questions, “I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but do you have any idea what happened?”

Robin really didn’t want to sound like he was complaining. The last thing that he’d remembered they were out in the middle of the field, facing down Lucina’s blade. Being where they were now was a marked improvement. All that was clear was that there had been a warm green light, and then they’d been somewhere else. He didn’t _need_ an answer, but be also didn’t really want to have to live with the mystery.

The question was answered by the sound of a crystal head of a staff falling into the soft grass. A tall figure in dark robes sat on a rock that jutted out from the earth a few steps away from the confused casters. At his feet was a short, thin staff with a round crystal head. The green light of the spent charge in the staff slowly fading away. The figure held another long staff in his hand that he was tapping against his shoulder as he looked down to the camp.

The priest turned his face back, his usual stern expression painted across his features, “I don’t get a lotta opportunities to use a rescue staff with yer strategies.” Brady let out a dark chuckle and looked back to the camp, “Glad I can still remember how they work when someone actually needs rescuin’.”

Robin relaxed and let his head fall back into the grass. He’d figured that all of the children of the future had been involved in this plot to kill him. When even Noire was aiming for him, it was easy to see all of them as potential threats. It was kind of refreshing to know that Brady wasn’t part of it. It was also kind of confusing. The rough looking priest had always looked like the kind of person who would be all about beating down authority. Maybe he’d just decided that Lucina was the one he needed to stand up to this time.

When he thought about it, Robin wasn’t even mad at them for this plan. From what they’d said, they were under the impression that he was going to become Grima. With all of the horrors that they’d been through in the future, killing him while he was still human seemed sensible. Ever the optimist, Robin always tried to find a way to save everyone, but he could respect a plan that weighed one life against the world. It wouldn’t have been his first plan, but he couldn’t fault their logic.

The strategist continued to stroke Tharja’s back. He smiled weakly as she slowly began to calm down in his arms, “Why did you save us?” Maybe it wasn’t the sort of question he should have been asking. If he made the boy think too hard about it, he might realize he’d made a mistake and he should have just let them die.

Brady let out a long sigh, speeding up the tapping of his staff against his shoulder, “Noire would never’ve forgiven herself for downin’ ya if Lucina’d actually killed ya.” He closed his eyes and took a long breath of the cool night air, “None of ‘em are thinkin’ ‘bout what killin’ ya’d do to ‘em.”

Robin let a long sigh slip past his lips. His real concern was that they had all thought about what killing him would do to them. If they really thought he was destined to turn into a horrible monster that killed the world, maybe they’d just weighed it as fair. Given all of the stories that Noire had told him about her upbringing, it seemed impossible that she’d go along with something like this without thinking about it first. The chance that this saved them from Grima must have seemed like a miracle.

That also meant that Brady had thought about it enough to decide that saving them was the better option. Maybe his decision had been purely motivated by the fact that his skills were tied to healing instead of attacking. Maybe he just didn’t believe that Robin really was destined to turn into the terrifying black dragon, or that they could fight that destiny in some way. In either case, he had chosen to help them, which couldn’t have been an easy choice to make. Brady had been left an orphan in the future as well, so any choice he made that didn’t turn them away from that future had to be a hard one.

“Thanks…” Robin smiled weakly as he looked at Brady’s back for a long moment

“Thankin’ me is easy.” Brady snorted and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, “All you gotta do is not turn into a horrible monster that murders our parents."

Tharja slowly lifted her head from Robin’s chest just enough to meet his eyes with her dark glare, “I agree.” She tightened her grip on his coat a little bit, as if frightened that he might somehow slip between her fingers, “Grima isn’t allowed to take you. You belong to me.”

Robin let out a dry chuckle as he looked up into the tiny pinpricks of light cast about the inky blackness that made up the night sky. He wasn’t sure what had happened in this alternate future where Grima had revived and carved a swath of death and destruction throughout the land. It wasn’t going to be easy to avoid whatever triggered the change when he didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. In truth, no one was as terrified at the possibility that he was destined to become Grima as he was. He just hoped that they wouldn’t all grow to regret the fact that he’d survived this attack.

“Yeah…” The strategist muttered softly, “I’ll do my best.”

What Robin wanted more than anything at that moment was to close his eyes and let himself slip into the oblivion of sleep. Running away from a group of skilled warriors that he still thought of as friends and family had taken a lot out of him. With the thoughts that he might be destined to turn into frightful monster who killed them all…well, it was a lot. It would be so easy to just give in and try to forget about all of that horror, and try to ignore the dull throb of the arrow wound in his leg. Unfortunately, what all of that chaos really meant was that there was still work that needed to be done.

With a low groan, Robin spoke up again, “Well…by now everything has probably started going crazy.” He chuckled weakly as he thought about everything that was probably going on in camp since he’d been attacked, “I’m betting that they could use their strategist to try and make sense out of all of this.”

Tharja gripped onto his shirt a little bit tighter, “You need to rest.”

She wasn’t wrong. The cuts from Lucina’s blade were still screaming at him every time he moved, the dull ache of the arrow in his leg still throbbing through his body. Even if he hadn’t been wounded, the day’s work and the thrilling run from death had taken their toll. As far as he knew he’d be marching into a trap. He doubted he’d fare well if Lucina attacked him in his current state. He wanted nothing more than to lay back in the loving arms of his wife and leave all of this trouble for another day.

“I just have to make one stop before our tent, and then I promise I’ll rest.” Robin smiled softly, knowing that he couldn’t leave things in the camp how they were. He turned his eyes to Brady, “Think you can heal up my leg enough that I can limp back to camp?"

oOoOo

Chrom pressed his forehead into his palm as he stared down at the cluttered surface of the war-table. Things had apparently gotten very complicated since their most recent mission, and at this very moment, he wasn’t even sure how to begin dealing with all of it. All he knew was that some guards had spotted some trouble, and everyone had been able to hear when magic started going off. Now he was here, trying to figure out what exactly had happened and how he was ever supposed to try and deal with all of it.

The Ylissean king raised his head, looking across the table to the children of the future that had been assembled before him. At the front stood the proud sword-wielder and heir to the Ylissean throne, her wrists bound before her. It seemed unnecessary to have her bound like that, given that the reports had said she hadn’t struggled against capture. It was more for the message that they were in trouble than anything else.

“What were you even thinking?” Chrom let his hand fall from his face, slapping it against the table before him with perhaps a little more force than he meant.

While some of the people who’d been gathered in the strategy tent shuddered at the sudden noise, an unflinching bulwark against her father’s fury, “My actions are always for the sake of the future.”

Chrom grit his teeth and crumpled some of the papers on the table in his fingers. He’d heard that children went through a rebellious phase, but this was more than he had expected. Lucina always had a smart answer about how the things she did were to secure a better future, but could never explain how that worked. He wanted to afford her the benefit of the doubt, but this was getting ridiculous. How was attempting to cut down his strategist and best friend was supposed to yield positive results.

“We don’t have time for this.” Chrom leaned further into the table, letting his body hang forward onto his locked arms, “Between the Risen and Walhart we don’t have time for fighting amongst ourselves. How am I even supposed to deal with this?”

Lucina closed her eyes, “I’ll accept the blame. The others were simply following my orders.”

The other children from the future shifted uncomfortably. They were torn between stepping up to help defend Lucina, and stepping back to allow her to make this noble sacrifice, “No.” The one to finally break the silence and step forward was the young heroine, Cynthia, “That’s not right.”

Lucina turned her eyes to her sister, narrowing her gaze slightly. She appreciated that she wanted to help, but it was beginning to wear on her that Cynthia always had something to say about her actions. How was she supposed to lead them all in fighting this dark future when Cynthia questioned everything decision she made? The pegasus knight couldn’t even let her step up and the blame for it. She was too naive! Those dreams of being a hero and saving everyone had poisoned her mind. Sometimes the price for happiness was blood. You couldn’t always save everyone.

“Cynthia’s right.” Owain muttered, “We should have stopped this before it got this far. I knew this plan didn’t feel right.”

Severa narrowed her eyes and elbowed Owain in the gut, “Shut it.” She took a long breath, “We were doing what we had to.”

Noire hung her head, staring down at the ground, “We didn’t…We had to…”

“Enough!” Chrom’s words cut through the chatter, shocking the children into silence. He raised his head, his eyes burning with a righteous fury as he looked over the children, “I don’t care who’s fault it is. I want to know what the hell happened.” He took a long breath as he looked at them again, “Explain it.”

A wave of unease washed over the children from the future as they struggled to come up with an explanation. They’d never been too eager to volunteer information about there horrors of the future. The reasons ranged from the pain of having to think about it, the fear of creating universe rending paradoxes, and the fact that some of their memories of that time were a bit spotty. Trying to explain that Lucina had seen the evil fell dragon wearing a familiar face was going to be a challenge.

Lucina was about to speak up when the conversation was interrupted by the flap of the tent being pulled back in a rush. Chrom let out a low groan as a handful of new people marched into the tent, all eager to share their opinions on what was going on. Of course this was going to explode into a giant disaster. How had he ever been able to convince himself that he could deal with this quietly?

“Where’s my dad!?” The young raven-haired girl who’d marched into the tent shouted the question, fear and worry etched into her features.

Chrom let out a long sigh as his head fell forward. He wasn’t surprised that Lucina hadn’t included Morgan in her assassination plot. If anything, he had been surprised to hear that Noire had anything to do with it. Somehow Lucina had turned one of Robin’s children against him, and how she’d done it was just another in a long line of questions. His list started very similarly to Morgan’s at the moment.

From what Chrom had gathered from the general mood of Lucina and he group, they hadn’t succeeded in their mission. He brought his head up, locking eyes with his daughter from the future, “Do you want to start with her question?”

Lucina’s lips twisted into a slight frown, “When I attacked him he disappeared.” She turned her eyes to Morgan, a flicker of regret flashing over her eyes for a moment. She’d known that there would be those that were left behind by her noble mission, and people who would mourn for Robin’s death. She’d just expected it to all be over before she really had to face them. These remorseful emotions would have been so much easier to deal with if the deed was already done.

“Why!?” Morgan threw her arms wildly to her sides.

The redheaded merchant who’d come in with Morgan took a hold of one of her arms, keeping her from lunging at Lucina. Holding the young strategist back on her other side was a slightly weathered looking auburn haired mercenary. While the the two holding Morgan back weren’t as personally invested as the girl, they didn’t disagree. The image of both of them holding back the young woman was made more intimidating by how they were also visually upset.

“Hey now. Gregor, not want to see friends fight.” The mercenary muttered as he continued to hold back the raven-haired girl.

Lucina slowly shook her head, “It’s for the sake of the future.” She closed her eyes, “I would do anything if it meant stopping the future that I saw.”

From Morgan’s perspective, this plan was always going to be terrible. It was the reason that Lucina hadn’t included her in the planning process. The worst reaction she’d gotten from those that she’d talked to had just been stepping back. If she had shared her concerns and plans with Morgan, there was no way that the raven haired girl would have ever let it go. They would have come to blows, and the whole plan would have been in disarray before they even started.

“That’s easy for _you_ to say!” Morgan spat angrily as she tried to shift her shoulders out of the grip of the other two fighters, “No one is trying to kill _your_ father!”

Noire took a step forward, “Hey…That’s not…” She furrowed her brow, knowing more than anyone that there was more to it than that.

“And you!” Morgan turned her attention to Noire, “How could you!? He’s our father!”

Noire sank back, bringing a hand to her chest as she felt an ache in her heart. It was hard to argue with Morgan’s words. When they had talked about this plan, Noire’s mind had been filled with all of those doubts. Going along with it was like agreeing that Robin really was some kind of frightening monster. She bit her bottom lip, no longer sure how she’d ever found herself in the middle of all of this. Her father had always been her pillar of support in her darkest days.

“That’s not…” Noire stuttered, flinching away from the way that Morgan’s words cut to her soul, “We had to…I didn’t…I don’t want to…”

If there had been a way, any other way, she would have chased after it. If their situation hadn’t been so dire, so hopeless, she never would have considered Lucina’s plan. In the future that they’d all run from, everyone’s parents were dead. Of course she’d wanted to stop the plan, to tell Lucina that they couldn’t do it. Of course she’d wanted to say that they shouldn’t kill Robin. Every time she’d had those thoughts, she thought about how greedy it would have seemed from everyone else’s perspective. How was she supposed to tell everyone that it was fine with her if their parents died because she wasn’t willing to let go of Robin?

Morgan spat more outrage at her sister, “If you really didn’t want to you shouldn’t have! What kind of monster tries to kill her own father!?”

Lucina scowled, “You don’t remember where we came from!” She narrowed her eyes, glaring at Morgan, “If you remembered what we’d all seen, you’d understand.”

“I don’t need to remember what isn’t real!” Morgan spat, pulling against the grip on her shoulders, “This dark future that you’re so terrified of is gone! It doesn’t exist! My father is real!”

Lucina took half a step towards Morgan before being stopped by Owain, “It’s coming! When it _becomes_ real, you’ll be covered in blood and ashes, wishing that I’d killed him!”

“Lucina…stop.” Owain muttered as he gripped the bound heiress by the shoulder to keep her from lunging forward.

The heiress roughly pushed him off with her shoulder, “No! This is madness!” She glared angrily at Morgan, “I wish that I could be as naive as you! I wish I didn’t still carry the memories of what happened to us! How blessed you are to be ignorant of the horrors of our history!”

“Enough…” Chrom groaned again as he looked from one of the young women to the other.

All of this infighting was getting them nowhere. Chrom still wasn’t actually sure why any of this had happened. From what he’d been able to gather from this little back and forth, Lucina thought that Robin had something to do with the rise of Grima. Robin had been fighting the rise of Grima just as hard as anyone else. How was he supposed to believe that Robin was going to contribute to the rise of the fell dragon? That didn’t even begin to make sense.

Chrom turned his attention to Lucina, “What makes you believe Robin has anything to do with the rise of Grima?”

Lucina turned her eyes slowly back to her father. If anyone would believe her, it would be him. She knew that. She also knew that what she was asking him to believe was that his best friend for all of these years, the man he trusted with his life, was doomed to become a monster. It was a moment where she’d have to put her faith in him. She’d have to trust that he’d understand, that he’d agree with her. He’d understand that this was just a small sacrifice for the sakes of the entire world.

“I saw it.” Her words were soft, but filled with her conviction, “In the future that we came from, I saw it. Robin is the avatar of Grima.”

“That’s not true!” Morgan shouted.

Cynthia bit her lip for a moment before responding, “I know how you feel…but Lucina wouldn’t lie about that.” That was what the hero worshiping girl had kept reminding herself when things had felt wrong.

The thing that they were fighting was bigger than any monster out of story books. No one wanted an ending where the hero stood over the freshly slain monster and everyone lived happily ever after more than Cynthia did. Since arriving and being taken in by those bandits, she’d been learning the cruel lesson that life was not like in the story books. Bandits could do a lot worse than just kill you, and sometimes killing monsters came at a heavy price.

Lucina took a long breath, “It is true. If we don’t act now it’ll be too late.” She looked back to her father, waiting for him to see the reason in what she was saying.

Chrom took a long breath. If what Lucina was saying was true, it was a dire situation. He was beginning to understand Lucina’s thought process. If she was right, and they killed Robin now, they’d be ending the threat of Grima before it ever began. What if it wasn’t true? What if she’d been mistaken? How could he sentence his best friend, and the hope of their army to death? This was madness, an impossible situation that he couldn’t deal with. The irony of it was that the person who’d normally advise him in this kind of situation was Robin.

“I don’t…” Chrom felt an icy grip in his heart. As much as he wanted to deny it, it made a sick kind of sense. Grima had always played these kinds of twisted games with them. It made sense that the fell dragon would chose one of his closest friends, a man that he’d hesitate to raise his sword against.

What was he supposed to do? Once he stopped torturing himself with the thoughts of cutting Robin down only to find out he was innocent, things got worse. What if he didn’t act, and Robin was the monster Lucina was accusing him of being? He knew that as he faced down death, he’d think back to this moment and know he’d chosen wrong. He’d think back to all of those moments when Robin had playfully told him that his heart was too big, and how that would come back to bite him.

The auburn haired mercenary cleared his throat to break the tension, “Gregor is confused. Is it Ylissean policy to execute man because of something he might do in future?”

Anna, who was on the other side of Morgan narrowed her eyes as she watched Chrom hesitate for longer than she cared for in making his decision, “No. It isn’t.”

Lucina shook her head letting out a long sigh, “You aren’t seeing the big picture.” She turned her eyes to Anna, “This is our best chance at stopping Grima.” She looked back to Chrom, “This is to save all of humanity.”

She wasn’t wrong. That was the part that hurt Chrom the most. They’d been ready to do just about anything in order to stop the rise of the fell dragon. Since Lucina had come back with her dark prophecy of the future, that was all they’d been working towards. They were on their grand quest to collect the last pieces of the Fire Emblem specifically to stop Grima, and honestly, there was no way to be sure if that was going to be enough. What if this was that last step that they needed to take? What if the decision that he needed to make to save everyone was to sacrifice this one life?

“You can’t seriously be considering this.” Anna let out a disappointed sigh as she regarded Chrom again.

“I…” Chrom started his mind going to war with itself with a series of worse and worse choices, “What if she’s right?”

The merchant shook her head slowly, “You’re talking about selling you humanity in order to save humanity. You need to take stock of your morals” She narrowed her eyes, “It should be deeply troubling to you that the people with a history of selling their loyalty for coin have to remind you that murdering your friend is wrong!”

Chrom grit his teeth. He didn’t _want_ to be considering sentencing Robin to death. He wanted to find a way where everyone walked away from this happy. He wanted to find the solution to this problem that didn’t end with him staining his hands with blood. Honestly, at this point he felt like he’d take pretty much anything. How did Robin make it look so easy to come up with those grand solutions? How did he always fan a tiny ember of hope into a roaring fire? Chrom just wanted to make the right choice, and like always, he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of his title.

The flap of the tent parted again, another small group of adventurers entering the tent. The tense situation suddenly became even more tense as a white haired man limped into the strategy tent, supported by the Plegian witch at his side. A few steps behind them was the rough looking healer, his staff balanced over his shoulder as his eyes scanned the inside of the tent quickly. The three stood in silence, taking in scene before them, two sides, each ready to fight the other, with a lost Chrom in the middle, desperately hoping for a resolution to this terrible situation.

“Well…” Robin smiled weakly, “Things are kind of tense in here, aren’t they?”

Chrom felt a wave of relief wash over him at the fact that Robin was still alive and safe. A part of him wanted to race across the tent and embrace his friend, hold him to make sure he was real. After that passed, he felt the sting in his heart as he remembered what they’d all discussed. He hated the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that his decision would have been easier if Robin had turned up dead instead of returning alive.

The children from the future found it difficult to meet Robin’s gaze. Perhaps it was shame at having turned against him. Perhaps it was the bitter emotions that came with having failed to kill him. The awkward emotions were clear on most of the children’s faces. Those awkward emotions hadn’t come close to stopping Lucina from casting a glare at Brady. The list of betrayals was longer than just Lucina and her group plotting to assassinate Robin.

“Father!” Morgan wrenched herself out of Gregor and Anna’s grasp, running to support her father.

Robin smiled softly, shifting his weight off of Tharja, and on to the raven-haired strategist in training. He leaned on her as he made his way towards the war table, “So, have we made any decisions that I should know about?” He knew what the topic of conversation was, and was hoping that a little bit of gallows humour might help to break the tension. It didn’t.

Tharja narrowed her eyes as she watched Morgan lead the strategist to the table. The fact that these assassins from the future were still free meant the merits of their plan were still being debated. It was patently ridiculous to Tharja. Chrom was leading up to giving them a pass on this. It took all of Tharja’s self-control to bite her tongue and let Robin do his work. She wanted all of this to be over as quickly as possible so that the strategist could go back to resting. From the way everyone here looked, they all wanted to stop and take a rest.

Chrom slumped down into his seat, looking across the war table to Robin with an exhausted expression, “Lucina says you’re going to become the avatar of Grima.”

“So I’d gathered.” Robin smiled weakly as he looked across the table to his closest friend, “I’d prefer to avoid that.”

Anna cut in quickly, the sour tone in her voice making her opinions on all of this very clear, “She also says that we should kill you.”

“I’d prefer to avoid that too.” Robin chuckled as he turned his eyes back to the redheaded merchant. He cast his eyes back to Lucina, a small smile on his lips, “I do have to admit, it was a carefully thought out plan. I’d prefer if we could keep it as a plan ‘b’ for now though.”

Lucina scowled as she watched Robin stand there and speak in a way that made light of all of this, “This is no joke.”

The strategist closed his eyes and nodded slowly, “It most certainly is not.”

While Robin might have appeared to look like he was taking everything lightly, he certainly wasn’t. If he had to chose between being the unwilling host of the fell dragon, or dying, death seemed preferable. That being said, he wasn’t ready to just let himself die over this. Lucina’s entire mission was about fighting to change the cruel hand that fate had dealt them. If she could change the course of her destiny, he wasn’t ready to give up on the chance that he could rewrite his.

“I’m not ready to accept that death or Grima are my only options.” Robin smiled softly as he looked at the heiress from the future, “Maybe we can somehow use the Fire Emblem to keep it from happening. Maybe there is some spell that we could try. Maybe there’s something hidden in some history book somewhere, and we just need to find it.” He shrugged, “The Shepards have the brightest minds I’ve ever known, and I’m not saying that just because I can’t remember my life before them.”

It was true. Their group was filled with genius level magicians, combat prodigies, and tactical minds that rivalled his own. If there was an answer to this that didn’t involve him dying, the adventurers that had become closer to him than family would be the ones that would find it. If it turned out that they couldn’t find it, then he could embrace their terrible plan b, knowing that there was nothing else that could have been done. He had no doubts in their abilities, and knew that if he left his fate in their hands, they’d do everything they could.

Chrom frowned as he looked down at the long war table, “We’ve still got the issues of Walhart and gathering the last of the gems for the Fire Emblem…” The statement made it clear what the issue was.

In order to put people on the quest to save Robin he was going to have to take people out of the fight. They’d already taken a detour from their campaign against Walhart to help Tiki with her ritual. Every day that they weren’t spending pushing back against the would-be-conquerer was letting him spread his influence further. Stopping Grima only for Walhart to crush them and burn down their country was only a marginally better outcome.

Robin closed his eyes, “Unless you were planning on killing our hostage, you were going to have to leave a handful of people behind anyway.” Now that he knew that the plan to murder him had nothing to do with her, Aversa proved to be a useful card for him to play.

The Ylissean king’s face took on a pensive expression as he attempted to form battle strategies, “I see. With her being a magic user I’d have been better leaving at least a mage or two behind as well.”

There were mutters among some of the members of the camp. The children that had earlier been planning on killing Robin had suddenly been shown another option.

Lucina watched Robin with a cold expression, “What if we can’t stop it?”

It was a fair question. When it really came down to it, Robin was betting his very life that the Shepards would be able to figure this out somehow. It seemed a safe bet given the world-class mages that were in their group, and the fact that they had Tiki among their ranks. Still, there was no guarantee that they would find an answer. With a monster as powerful as Grima, it was possible that there was no way to stop this from happening. Robin just couldn’t let himself accept that. If Grima was too powerful for them to stop, it meant everything they’d done had been a waste.

Robin looked over the maps that were still on the war-table. He cast his eyes over the little carved figurines that were still set up to mirror their deployment during the recent mission to protect Tiki. Having faith that someone in their group could find the answer to save him was easy. The only other option was to admit that there was no hope, that he was doomed, and that nothing he did mattered. Once he got past that dire thought, he’d been free to do what he was good at, and come up with a plan.

“Then turn that truth to your advantage.” The strategist smiled weakly.

Chrom was the first to respond to that, “I don’t understand.”

Robin’s eyes flashed up for a moment before he turned his attention to Laurent, the mage in Lucina’s group, “I’m assuming that the sudden haste in the plans to kill me are because of how Tiki connected with Naga.” Robin didn’t really wait for a response, “If that’s really the worry here, it took Tiki most of an afternoon to connect, during which time she was basically helpless.”

Laurent brought his hand up, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “You’re suggesting that if we waited until Grima had begun to infiltrate you, our fatal blow might also reach the fell dragon.” He crossed his arms and hung his head for a moment, seeming to work the thought over in his mind, “Instead of just derailing Grima’s plans, our attack could deliver a decisive blow directly to the fell dragon.”

Nah finally spoke up, trying to avoid the judging eyes of Gregor, her mercenary father who’d likely only come to collect her, “Grima isn’t Naga though. It’s hard to guess what it will look like when he tries to take control of Robin.” She brought her hand up quickly a little embarrassed that she might have said too much, “I’m sure that with Robin fighting it we’ll have at least a little bit of time though.”

Laurent and Nah were right, the plan wasn’t entirely without risk. They didn’t really know how the link worked with Tiki. Even if they did know, there was no way to tell if a link with Grima would be the same. This whole plan was based on conjecture and assumptions. On the other hand, their plan to kill him to stop him from becoming Grima was also a little bit shaky. It wasn’t like anyone could be absolutely sure that he was going to become the fell dragon. Robin was just hoping that everyone agreed that it made sense to hold out a little longer.

Tharja scanned the room with her dark eyes. Her heart ached as as everyone in the room considered killing Robin as an actual plan, “Grima leads an army of undead monstrosities. For all you know, killing him is what gives the fell dragon access to his body.”

Robin had not been the only one who’d put aside despair to come up with strategies for this meeting. Tharja knew the way that Robin thought, the way that he planned. She knew that somewhere in his mind he was coming up with a plan to martyr himself. Her hope had been that she’d be able to come up with some way of stopping it, some logic that would poke a hole in his plan. Unfortunately, as confident as she was in her spell casting, Grima was a calamitous force like no other. Even she’d have trouble honestly saying she could lower the chances of Grima worming his way into Robin to zero.

Robin reached over the table to the winged dragon that they’d use to represent Tiki in their miniature layout, “If the only answer we find is that I have to die, I want my death to mean as much as possible.” He gently flicked at the dragon miniature, causing it to teeter back and forth before falling over, “If Grima is going to consume my body, I want him to choke on it.”

Tharja narrowed her eyes. She hated that Robin had been willing to accept a plan that revolved around his death. More than that, she hated that it made sense. Robin had formed a plan where, if everything else fell through, his last-ditch maneuver would be to look death in the face and take a swing. Yes, she hated that this plan involved Robin’s death. She also appreciated the dark theme that his last act would be an attempt to take revenge against the god that would be taking him away from her.

The dark witch parted her lips, readying herself to mimic the future heiress in a declaration that she’d cut down the chains of fate. She’d always thought that those battle cries seemed so childish. It had always seemed like the raving of a small child, to think that there was anything a mere mortal could do to stand up to the cosmic forces of fate. She was beginning to understand the strength and conviction that Lucina held in her chest every time she reminded herself of her mission. Their party had made a habit of challenging fate.

Before Tharja could utter a sound, the raven-haired girl who’d been shivering from the effort of not interrupting her father while he was planning finally broke her silence. “You don’t need to worry about that plan though.” Morgan held her head high, “No way I am going to let some dumb lizard take you away.”

What an audacious claim. How ludicrous she was to call the dark god who’d made it their destiny to drown the world in blood a mere lizard. Where had she ever found such rampant arrogance as to think that she alone could find the power to turn back the dark beast, Grima? Tharja felt her lips twist into a proud smile as she looked at her daughter. It seemed that the young strategist really was starting to take after her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That felt like a lot of dialogue, but they did have a whole lot of stuff to talk about there. Also, I still am not super sure what the Walhart sub-plot was about. I remember when he showed up, I thought he was Fire Emblem's Nobunaga, and I think in my play through he killed Basilio and I accidentally saved instead of re-starting which tainted my ending with a tragic death.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the fun reveal for how Robin and Tharja were _rescued_. My original story roadmap had Tharja teleporting both of them to Morgan, using the witch class's ability to teleport next to an ally...and then I remembered that the witch class was a Fire Emblem Fates thing, and not a Fire Emblem Awakening thing. I totally panicked in the middle of writing chapter three until I remembered that there was still a mechanic in Awakening for moving units out of dangerous places. I'm really proud of myself for that big of problem-solving.
> 
> Will Tharja murder Noire in her sleep for having dared to take a shot at Robin? Will Brady confess his secret romantic feelings towards Noire for a super spicy chapter where the guy who looks scary gets together with the girl who is always scared? Is the reason that Anna is so angry about the secret plan to kill Robin because "A Hex Of A Bargain" is actually canon in this story? Will there be further expansion on the way that I paired up Nowi and Gregor as a throw-away sentence in this chapter? Will the Shepards be forced to kill Robin to stop him from being taken over by the fell dragon Grima? As a writer am I now going to make it my mission to never have 12 people interacting with each other in a single scene again? Tune in next time! Same Bat-time! Same Bat-channel!


	5. A Hex Called Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shepards have begun their preparations for keeping everything under control long enough to deal with Walhart, and to find a way to stop Grima from claiming Robin's body...but in their exhausted and disorganized state none of them are prepared for Aversa's plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember back in Hex Called Love when my chapters used to be around 3 thousand words...boy those were the days.
> 
> Also, as a fair warning, the start of this chapter might get little bit uncomfortable.

An earthy and musky smell hung in the air. The flickering light of torches flickered through the windows and doorway, casting long deep shadows in the room. At first the cell seemed silent, but there was a deep bouquet of noises hidden just below the surface. The atmosphere of the room was more defined by the drip of water, the crackling of torches, and the groan of links of chain rubbing against each other.

Robin winced as he opened his eyes. The edges of his vision still seemed blurry, as if a fog were closing in from all around him. His body ached to the tempo of his beating heart. The scratches and bruises from his recent battle still voiced their protests in the back of his mind. The cold steel of shackles dug into his wrists, the long chain that they were connected to holding his arms above his head. A gentle tug gave Robin all the evidence he required to know that the chain was not likely to surrender its grasp on him.

A dull ache pounded in Robin’s brain as he tried to take stock of his situation. The fog in his vision made it difficult to make out details, but this was unmistakably the ruined building the Shepards used for a cell. With another quick tug of his wrists, he confirmed that he was definitely bound and couldn’t move. He took in a long whiff of the air, picking up notes of dew on grass from the field just beyond the stone walls. When he focused, he couldn’t hear the sounds of people walking, or any conversations, so it seemed that he was alone.

The strategist looped his fingers around the chain to take the pressure off of his wrists before pulling against the chain. He grit his teeth, groaning as his tired muscles protested his efforts. He felt his feet lift slightly off of the ground, letting him hang from the chain that groaned under his weight. With enough movement and pulling, he was confident that he could eventually pull the metal loop from the roof and start freeing himself.

“Hmmm…I tried that too…” The whisper came from right behind Robin’s ear, causing him to lose his grip on the chain and fall back to the ground. His ankles shuddered under the force, a tingle running up his legs as his body attempted to recover from the impact.

Robin tried to whip his head around to see the person behind him. From what he could see, his only companions in the cell were the dancing shadows on the walls. That couldn’t be right. He could still hear the voice ringing in his memory. He could still feel the warm breath on the edge of his ear. Someone was here with him. Whoever they were, they were playing games with him. Where did he know that voice from?

Suddenly the strategist felt a soft pressure against his back. It was both familiar and foreign all at once. He felt his body go tense as a warm hand slipped around his body, a palm pressing flat to his chest and pushing him back into the pressure behind him. He struggled, but chained up how he was, there was little that he could do. He turned his head again, finally finding the face of the white-haired woman behind him.

“Aversa?” Robin struggled a bit more, trying to free himself from the Dark Flier’s grasp.

With a warm chuckle, Aversa slowly began to draw her fingers down Robin’s chest, “Ah, my little Robin still remembers my name.” She dipped her face in close to the crook of his neck, letting her breath tickle against his skin, “How exciting.”

Robin felt a shiver run up his spine as the villainous woman continued to press her chest into his back. He struggled against the helplessness of being bound and grappled in such a way. The chain refused to give. None of this was right. His mind struggled with the tick fog that clouded his head, trying to make sense of all of this. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the sensation of the warmth on his back, or the fingers tickling at his front through the thin layers of his clothing.

Aversa let out another warm chuckle as she brought he hand up, her finger pressing into his chest. Her fingertip gave of a strange heat before she slowly began to draw it downwards. Robin gasped as the material of his shirt failed under whatever magic danced on the tops of Aversa’s fingertips. The heat of her fingers retreated downwards, being replaced by the cool sensation of the night air against his now naked skin.

With every touch, and every movement, Robin was reminded of his helplessness. In the position he was in, he could hardly fight back. Everything that Aversa did conjured the image of a cat toying with its food. If he didn’t get himself out of this soon, he really felt like he was in danger of being gobbled up. He gasped as he felt Aversa’s fingernail scratch over his skin, catching for a moment against his bellybutton.

“Stop.” Robin gasped, tugging against the shackles around his wrists again.

Aversa nibbled at the crook of his neck, her fingertips slowing as they dipped down to the belt around his hips, “Stop?” She chuckled as she placed kisses up the side of his neck, her lips progressing to the edge of his ear before she let out another sensual whisper, “We haven’t even started yet.”

Robin tried to pull his hips away from Aversa’s hand as her fingers deftly worked over his belt buckle. He could feel the dark Plegian press her body tighter to him from behind. This wasn’t right. He had to get out of this somehow. He tugged at his wrists again, a spike of pain shooting through his arms as the shackles dug into his skin. He closed his eyes tightly, his mind spinning as he felt Aversa’s burning fingers brush against his exposed skin.

“Help!” Robin choked out the cry as he felt the belt come loose, its weight shifting on his hips.

Another warm chuckle echoed against Robin’s ear as the dark woman’s fingers slipped down, squeezing at the hardening length in his pants, “No one will come…” She chuckled again, stroking him through his pants while she dragged her tongue up the side of his neck, “Well, I suppose you might.”

Robin shuddered, trying to ignore the warm pleasure of Aversa’s touch. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to force it out of his head, trying stop the reactions of his traitorous body. He didn’t want this. He’d sworn himself to Tharja. He tried to force himself back into a state of calm through force of will, tried to remind his body that he was faithful. He tried to ignore the feeling of Aversa’s fingers pulling down at his clothing, or her warm chuckle in his ear.

A sharp gasp escaped the strategists lips as he felt cool air against his heated skin, “Why are you doing this?”

Aversa nipped at his earlobe quickly, “That should be obvious.”

Robin shook his head, hoping that by keeping her talking he could buy enough time to get himself out of this, “I guess I just need some help to understand.”

The white-haired Plegian gently scraped her teeth over the skin just under Robin’s jaw, “For my entire life my father has been preparing me.” She placed one palm flat against his stomach, while the other hand ventured up to the shackles around his wrists, “My body has been shaped and prepared through years of spells and magical manipulation.” The fingers around his wrists slid down, tracing over his arm through his dark coat, “All of that was so that I would be the perfect vessel to accept the great lord Grima.”

The strategist furrowed his brow, turning his head slightly to catch a threatening glow in Aversa’s deep violet eyes. He swallowed a ball of nerves in his throat before speaking in a shaky breath, “I don’t understand.”

Aversa smiled as she leaned forward, her lips placing a series of gentle kisses along the line of his jaw, “Grima was supposed to be mine.” A low growl came from deep in her throat as her fingers danced down his sides, settling over his hips before slowly sliding forward, “I spent my whole life preparing to be his avatar. It is my birthright.” Robin shuddered as her fingers came down to encircle the base of his throbbing shaft, “But he’s chosen your body as his vessel instead. Do you think it’s because of this?”

Robin whimpered as the dark woman traced her fingertips up and down his twitching length, “I-I don’t know.”

Aversa smiled, feeling the heat of his male hardness in her palm, “Of course you don’t.” She slowly stroked her grip up and down his pulsing manhood, “Gods do tend to work in mysterious ways.”

The strategist let out a shuddering breath, trying not to think about the way her fingers felt against him, “I don’t even want to be Grima’s avatar.”

Aversa chuckled as she let him slip from his grasp before slowly stepping away, “Are you sure that’s true?”

“Of course it’s true!” Robin retorted quickly, his mind feeling much clearer now that the seductive Plegian had stoped teasing his body. How could she think that any part of him would want to be the avatar of Grima? What could have possibly convinced him that he would want to be a host to the horrid monster that would destroy the future?

The sharp heels of Aversa’s shoes clicked against the uneven cobbles of the floor as she slipped around Robin’s helpless form. Her fingertips left burning trails over his skin as she walked until she was standing right in front of him. Her lips curled into a twisted smile as her violet eyes trailed up and down his body, assessing his half-naked form. She let out another warm chuckle as her fingertips danced over his hips before she dragged her warm palms forward to the more sensitive parts of his anatomy.

Aversa slowly shook her head, “With Grima’s powers you could have anything that you wanted.” She traced her fingertips down to tentatively brush against Robin’s sensitive length again, “You’d have mountains of gold and treasure.” She took a half step forward, her violet eyes casting a gaze that burned into his, “You could pour yourself in to study, read more tomes than you ever could as a feeble mortal.”

She wrapped one arm around him, hugging him close while she wrapped the fingers of the hand between them around his shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze, “You’d have a personal harem who’s only want would be to please you.” She dragged her fingers over his length at a tantalizing and teasing pace, “I’m sure none of them would be as skilled as me, but you could try a different flavour every night.”

With an odd shimmer, like a reflecting twisting and warping in a pool of ripples, Aversa’s body faded away, replaced instead by a familiar raven-haired sorceress, “Perhaps your desire is for the familiar, a delicate touch dedicated to your every need…” The dark witch smiled, still gently pumping her hand along his throbbing length. Tharja’s familiar presence lulled his body into relaxing out of habit.

Another shimmer caused the vision of Tharja to fade away replaced by the redhead merchant, “Perhaps if blind devotion wasn’t your speed, you spend your night with someone who made it a transaction.” Anna’s hands were still soft, but her fingers had a dextrous quality to them from her experience counting coins, “Money and power can be effective aphrodisiacs.” 

The image of Anna twisted and transformed into the bubbly blonde healer who’d taken care of wounded Shepards for as long as they’d been a group, “Perhaps something more taboo, like the warmth of a sisterly figure.” Robin gasped as he watched a lustful light dance just behind Lissa’s eyes as she let him slip from her fingers and leaned closer. Her pillowy lips brushed against his for a moment, the flowery scent of the Ylissean princess flooding his nostrils.

With another ripple, the face grew more rugged and hard, the blonde locks being replaced by a short messy mane of blue hair, “Perhaps there’s a secret longing for something a little less soft.” The gruff voice of Chrom seemed almost like a taunt. The Ylissean king’s rugged body exuded an aura of the power and strength to take control in any situation.

Robin narrowed his eyes at the display of twisting imagery, his mind finally clear enough to start putting things together, “This isn’t real.”

Chrom’s image broke and slipped away, dispersing like smoke or dust. Revealed as the whips of the illusionary Chrom faded was a moderately disappointed looking Aversa leaning back against the cell wall, “Spoilsport.”

The strategist flexed against the bindings, hoping the knowledge that all of this was some sort of trick would give him the power to escape. The bindings held strong. It seemed that in this illusory world, the imaginary bindings would prove to still be capable of holding him. He supposed he’d have a better chance if he had a better understanding of just what all of this was. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to will his mind into decoding the mystery of what was really happening here.

“This is all just a trick.” Robin opened his eyes again, glaring at the dark skinned woman as she seemed to lose interest and began examining her nails, “You’re the one who’s really in these shackles.”

Aversa sighed, crossing her arms under her chest, pressing her breasts together seductively between her arms, “For now.” She chuckled, her violet eyes examining his every expression.

The strategist eyed Aversa closely. She’d been found out, but wasn’t retreating. This twisted illusion hadn’t fallen away. She was keeping him here for some reason. He squeezed his eyes shot again, shaking his head slightly. Why was she keeping him here? No. He didn’t need to think about that now. What he needed was to break out. The question he needed to ask wasn’t ‘why’. What he needed to know was how she was keeping him here.

“How are you doing this?” If she had enough power to capture him in whatever this was, the rest of the Shepards might be in danger. He needed to get out of here. Warning bells had started clanging in his head. He needed to get to her and put an end to all of this before someone got hurt.

Aversa let out an annoyed sight before bringing her hand up slowly, tracing a fingertip down her own cheek. A thin line of crimson was left on her skin as she drew her fingertip to her chin. The purple marking on her cheek took on an eerie glow as the deep crimson residue from her finger came in contact with it. Robin narrowed his eyes as he watched the Dark Flier slip her tongue past her lips, before slowly sliding up the length of her finger.

“It’s magic, little Robin.” She chuckled, “A lifetime of being molded into Grima’s perfect avatar has made my body a living weapon.” As she drew her hand forward, her fingertips danced with a dark crackling energy, “Magic courses through my blood. It’s painted on my skin, etched into my very flesh.” She let her arm fall to her knee as she leaned forward, pushing herself off of the wall, “You took me into your camp without the slightest idea of what I was.”

Robin’s eyes went wide as suddenly so many more things began to fall into place. It all made sense now. She was the cause of all of the heightened anxiety in camp recently. Tharja’s concerns about him being alone with the Plegian Dark Flier might have seemed like mere jealousy, but she may have been sensing something more. Even the recent attempt on his life made more sense when viewed through the lens of Aversa’s body being coated in dark, mind-altering magics. The warning bells in his head clanged louder as the danger she presented became more and more clear.

“You’ve been casting since we captured you.” He said the words almost like they were a question, but there was no doubt to the answer.

Aversa smiled and shrugged, “How could I not take advantage when you lowered your guard?”

Robin narrowed his eyes and pulled at the chains al little harder, “What was the point? Were you hoping to sow enough chaos that we’d all kill each other? Did you push Lucina into attacking me with the hopes that she’d kill me? Are you hoping the Shepards will find a way to stop Grima from possessing me so you’ll be his only choice?”

“You’re acting like I brainwashed your people. All I did was offer a gentle nudge in the right direction. I did it for the same reason that they were so easy to manipulate them.” The smile on Aversa’s lips took on a more twisted quality as she spoke, “Why does a scorpion sting? Why does a spider bite? It’s in my nature.”

“So why tell me now?” The strategist narrowed his eyes. Did she plan to cast some spell on him, to leave him locked in this illusion? Did she have a plot where he’d die before he could ever do anything to stop her, and now she was just gloating?

Aversa blinked for a moment, seeming shocked by the question, “The answer to that should be obvious.” The clanging in in Robin’s head seemed so loud now that it almost drowned out Aversa’s voice. As she locked eyes with him, everything felt silent for a single moment, “Because it no longer matters if you know.

The world flashed and Robin awoke with a shuddering gasp, his pulse pounding, and a cold sweat sticking to his brow. Tharja’s eyes were locked on his, the expression on her face stained panic and worry as she shook him by her tight grip on his shoulders. The loud clanging was no longer just in his head. Instead it rung through the camp accompanied by shouts and cries. Robin’s brain still felt lost in a dizzy haze, but he knew that sound. It was the warning bell. They were under attack.

oOoOo

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. This was supposed to be a nice relaxing evening of rest. The plan was for them to nurse their wounds, to recover and be ready to start a gruelling process of research when they awoke. Tharja had plotted everything out. They’d spend the morning digging through scrolls, tomes and other research materials to find the solution to this Grima problem. As the day grew on and they became frustrated with the process she’d make a show of leaning on stacks of books, or bending over tables to reach things, and savour the way he eyes traced the lines of her body. Once he’d pushed her down and they’d both enjoyed a heated session of venting their frustrations, she’d encourage him to rest while she continued her research.

Instead, her plan to stimulate their minds with research, and stimulate each other in much more sensual ways, had fallen through. She’d allowed herself the comfort of sleeping in Robin’s arms, only to be rudely awakened by the clanging warning bell. She’d grasped her battle-tome from their bedside table, ready to strike down anything foolish enough to invade their tent. When she discovered no immediate threat, she’d expected to hear Robin’s voice reminding her that they needed to leave the warm comforts of bed.

This reminder hadn’t come. Robin hadn’t appeared to have reacted to the warning bells at all. This was very much not a behaviour that was normal for Robin. Tharja had thought that perhaps he was still waking form his slumber. He had been through a lot recently, it was possible that exhaustion was finally catching up to him. If that had been the case, she would have simply taken up a defensive stance, and made it her mission to make sure no harm befell him. With the bulk of their force preparing to depart for the campaign against Walhart in the morning, it hardly mattered if she stayed in their tent.

When Tharja turned her eyes to Robin, her blood had run cold. His lips twitched as he murmured incoherent sounds. His brow was coated with a thick sheet of cold sweat. His breath was coming in short ragged pants. Tharja cursed herself for being so close and not noticing it sooner. He seemed sick, but it was more than that. She could feel that oppressive magic that had hung in the air when they’d been fleeing the future children. Something was very wrong here.

The dark witch had moved quickly, straddling Robin’s hips before cupping her hands over his shoulders and gently shaking him. She could feel panic welling up in her chest, could feel her stomach churn, could hear her heartbeat so loud in her ears that it drowned out the clanging warning bell. She needed Robin to wake up. Any disaster that was happening outside of the tent paled in comparison to the disaster that was happening before her right now.

What was she going to do? Maybe this was some sort of curse or hex. She could deal with that. All she had to do was figure out which hex it was. As long as she could do that before whatever damage it was doing became irreversible, everything would be fine. What if it wasn’t a hex? If this was some sort of direct attack, it had been powerful enough, or perhaps sneaky enough to slip past her wards. If that was the case, he could be dead before she ever found out what happened. No. It had to be some sort of hex that had been placed on him while she was out of his sight.

Tharja chewed on her bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears that were already welling up in her eyes. She focused her attention on running through all the hand gestures she knew for dispelling hexes. There was no point in calling for help. Everyone in camp was already on high alert from the alarm bells. Even if she shouted, no one had time to come to her rescue. She was alone, which meant she had to be the one to do this.

‘What if you fail?’ A dark voice whispered at the back of her mind. It wasn’t a question she was willing to entertain. She couldn’t afford to fail. She traced the pattern for breaking a hex of eternal sleep onto Robin’s chest.

‘He might die…’ She wouldn’t let that happen. She went through a series of patterns meant to dispel various sickness hexes. Robin had to survive.

‘You’re not smart enough to figure this out.’ The darkness in her heart made itself known with the twisted whispers in her mind, ‘You’re not strong enough to save him.’ She grit her teeth, quickly running out of possible counter-hexes, ‘If only you were better…’ In her desperation, she brought her hands back to Robin’s shoulders, shaking, him, begging with all her soul for him to just open his eyes.

Robin let out a gasp, his eyes opening in a start. His face held a panic that reflected the twisting emotions in Tharja’s heart. She felt the hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked down into his panicked eyes. He had woken up. He’d come back to her. She let out a sob before letting herself fall down into Robin’s embrace. She could still hear Robin’s heart racing through the quick rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

“You okay?” Robin muttered the question, his mind racing at the thought that Tharja might have gone through the same sort of twisted nightmare that he had.

Tharja buried her face further into Robin’s chest, nodding slightly but not saying a thing. Perhaps she was just on edge. She wasn’t sure how much more of almost losing him she would be able to take. She planned to make good use of all of this research time, to cast as many protection hexes as she could on the white-haired strategist. With her skill, and nothing to do but research…she’d make new hexes just for that purpose.

Robin groaned softly, lifting his head from the pillow, “I’m pretty sure that’s the alarm bell.” He slowly traced his fingers through Tharja’s silky hair as she shuddered and whimpered into his chest, “We should probably do something.”

“Shut up.” The words were just a whispered breath as Tharja pushed herself further into Robin’s warmth, “Just for a few more minutes.”

The strategist closed his eyes, nodding slowly as he continued to stroke his fingers through Tharja’s hair. They really needed to stop having moments like these. As much as he loved having Tharja in his arms, it seemed every time it happened lately she was crying. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could pat her on the back and promise that he wasn’t about to die.

The flap of their tent was thrown back quickly, a raven-haired girl dashing into their tent. She held a bronze short sword, and her eyes quickly dashed about the room before settling on the two adults. It wasn’t the first time that she’d slipped into Robin’s tent to see Tharja straddling him. She swallowed hard before averting her gaze, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. This hardly seemed like the appropriate time for them to be acting like that, but she knew better than to say so to Tharja.

“Um…I don’t mean to put a damper on…whatever is happening, but you guys can hear the bell, right?” Morgan turned her back to her parents, staring at the flap to make sure she saw anything that came in.

Tharja let out a low groan before shifting her weight back so that she was once again in a sitting position. The faint streaks of tears were still on her cheeks as she turned her gaze to the flap of the tent. She didn’t want to leave Robin’s grasp, but the strategist from the future was not wrong. Some fool had dared to attack the Shepards, which was reason enough to punish them. By interrupting her private moments with Robin, they’d ensured she’d show them no mercy.

“What is happening?” Tharja’s voice cracked from her earlier crying as she pushed herself to the edge of the bed before pulling on her sharp metal shoes.

Morgan looked back to Tharja for a moment, swallowing her nerves before making her report, “It’s a whole bunch of Risen. It’s like all of the ones that ran away from that last mission came here at once.”

Robin shifted up into a sitting position, wincing slightly as his body protested his asking it to move, “It’s Aversa.” He narrowed his eyes, still reeling from the way she’d taunted and teased him with whatever that nightmare spell of hers had been, “If we can stop her, we can probably stop all of this.”

Tharja pulled her cape on as she pushed herself to her feet. Once she was up she brought her hands to the sides of her face, flipping her hair back to cascade over the back of her cape. Her bangs fell forward, hiding the redness of her eyes in a deep and vicious shadow. In mere moments her transformation into the cruel and relentless battle mage had been complete. Her hand flashed to the sword that had been propped against the bedside table before holding it back to Robin. She’d have preferred he had the chance to rest, but if she was being called into battle, she intended to keep an eye on him.

Robin pulled on his jacket, rolling his shoulders as he slipped the sword into the side of his belt. He grabbed a spell tome as he crossed the tent and stepped through the flap into the cold night air outside. The sounds of battle were close, but not yet all around him. The attackers likely hadn’t gotten all of the way into camp before they’d been spotted. He looked one way, and then the other, stopping when he saw the shivering form of a white haired girl, huddled against the side of his tent, gripping a bow tight to her chest.

“Noire?” Robin looked at the young girl who looked up at him with sad and apologetic eyes.

The young sniper swallowed a sob, her hands still cupped over her ears when she looked up at him, “I-I don’t know what’s h-happening…” She sniffled, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, “I didn’t…I didn’t want things to be like this.”

Robin let out a long sigh. It was clear from how she looked that the girl still blamed herself for the plot to take his life. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days and was just half a step away from a nervous breakdown. He was going to need to have a conversation with her and remind her that he wasn’t angry with her. Unfortunately, they didn’t exactly have the time for that kind of father-daughter bonding moment right now. He brought up his hand, getting ready to reach over, hoping that patting her on the head might make her feel better. He was cut off before he could follow through with it.

“Get up.” Tharja muttered the command as she cast her terrifying glare at the young girl.

None of them had time for this. Tharja was still filled with an anger and distrust to the white-haired sniper, but this wasn’t the time for her childish drama. She was from the future, she was supposed to be an adult. Now she was here blubbering outside of their tent while they were all dealing with a disaster. She could find an inventive way to punish the girl later, but for now the pragmatic part of her brain that knew they needed every able-bodied fighter had won out. She couldn’t afford not to give the girl a momentary stay of execution.

Noire shook her head, pulling the bow closer to herself as she turned her fearful eyes to Tharja, “I-I…” She sobbed again, still shaking her head, “I j-just want you to f-forgive me.”

Tharja narrowed her eyes dangerously before reaching her hands down and lifting the sniper up by her collar. The witch held her close, watching Noire avert her gaze and shiver in fear. While she might have been afraid of the Risen charging in, the girl seemed absolutely terrified of what Tharja might do to her now. She whimpered helplessly, screwing her eyes shut as if she was worried that these might be her last moments.

“What is all this whimpering?” The witch growled, “Are the Risen not your enemy? Have you not trained to defeat them?” Tharja brought her face closer to Noire’s, causing the young sniper to pull back further. Noire’s shoulders trembled as her bangs becoming disheveled and hiding her eyes, “Where is all that conviction you had when you were ready to kill your father?”

How had this whimpering mess of a girl ever managed to find the courage to take a shot at Robin? It was inconceivable. Now she was faced with the consequences of Tharja’s emotions, and she couldn’t even look her in the eyes. Tharja was starting to doubt that she could have ever given birth to this thing. If she’d really believed she was making the right choice, the least she could do now was to stand up for herself.

Robin was about to speak up, about to break up this fight. Before he could move in or speak, Noire brought her hands up, breaking Tharja’s grasp on her and taking a shaky step back. The witch watched her closely as if waiting for the sniper to offer some justification for forgiving her treasonous acts. The sniper’s shoulders rose and fell under long and ragged breaths. When she brought her head up, an eerie glow had settled into her eyes. A similar glow pulsed from the charm she wore around her neck.

The sniper narrowed her eyes dangerously before turning her focus down one of the paths. A dark figure had shambled through the gap between a few tents, dragging a long sword behind it. Robin brought his hand to his spell tome, preparing to strike it with magic, but as he was about to open the tome, and arrow cut through the air. With a sickening sticky noise, the wooden shaft of the arrow slipped through the eye of the shambling figure, causing it to tumble lifelessly to the ground.

Noire’s body had stopped shivering with fear, instead now shuddering with little giggles and laughs. There was a gleeful skip to her steps as she marched towards the downed Risen soldier. Once she was over it she brought up her boot, dropping it down with a cruel stomp to the back of its skull. She stomped a few more times, before finally stopping and drawing another arrow into her bow. When she finally spoke, her voice was carried back to them as clear as possible, “Try to keep up.”

Robin let out a long sigh as he drew the sword at his side from its sheath. He suspected that Tharja had been attempting to push Noire into the bloodlust that sometimes overtook her in battle. It had also given the dark witch an opportunity to get her frustrations out. The strategist just hoped that when all was said and done the two would be able to put this behind them and heal their relationship. That was something for later. For now he just wanted to make sure that they all survived this Risen attack.

oOoOo

Sparks danced off the edge of a sword as it scraped along the curved blade of an axe. With a roll of a shoulder and the turning of a blade, the axe slid down the length of the sword. The next step in the violent dance of death was the sword wielder taking a step closer to his foe. He struck forward with the hilt of his sword to deliver a dull strike into the opponent’s stomach. The next move had been to turn the strike into a low slash, but it was cut short by a heavy punch to the side, knocking the sword wielder back.

“Nghnn! You fiend!” The young brunet took a few stumbling steps back before making an overly showy flourish into a dynamic fighting pose, “Now that we’ve crossed blades, my sword won’t rest until it has tasted your blood!”

Owain grit his teeth through a grin as he stared down the mountainous Risen that stood before him. The creature had deep purple skin, like it was made out of death and shadows. The creature’s long matted hair hung low over its shoulders and glowing red eyes. The fingers at the end of one of the thing’s long spindly arms were wrapped tightly around a wicked looking axe. The thing’s face seemed more like a mask than anything else, it’s mouth a broken gash of jagged angles. It seemed undaunted by Owain’s bluster, but its imposing presence still proved more than enough to cause the slight tremor in Owain’s arm to return.

This was not how Owain had planned on spending his evening. He had been out for a walk, hoping to clear his head with the cool night air. When the warning bell had started ringing, his body had started running before he had a chance to even think about it. Soon enough he’d found himself within sight of the ruins the Shepards used as their prison. That was also where he’d found himself in the middle of a group of Risen soldiers. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but what he needed to do was perfectly clear. He’d stepped up, just like a hero should.

What Owain hadn’t been expecting was the appearance of the terrible creature that stood before him now. The shivers of fear had immediately started shooting down his arm, but he’d never let that stop him before. With all of the times Owain had sworn that he was going to become a hero worthy of legend, there was no way he could let this monster take him down. With a bitter smile on his lips, he knew that even if he did go, this was the way to do it. This was much more worthy of legends than some plot to kill Robin. The story of a hero facing off against a monster was the sort of thing that would still be around long after he died. It was the sort of thing that his parents would be proud of him for.

A raspy broken breath came from the creature as it swayed from side to side. For a moment Owain thought that it was trying to laugh at him. Risen didn’t do that, did they? It pulled its wicked looking axe from where it had struck the earth, bringing it up to rest on its powerful shoulder. A mad gleam seemed to have settled into the Risen’s glowing red eyes as it stared down the yellow mercenary before it. The stance seemed almost taunting, but again, Owain wasn’t sure if that was just him personifying the undead monstrosity in some way.

Owain dug his boot into the soft earth below him, shooting himself forward with all his might. He couldn’t afford to stand still. If he stopped now, he wasn’t going to be able to get himself going again. The process for being a hero was to stand before something terrifying and keep charging forward even while terrified. The only way that to overcome this challenge was to keep throwing himself at the challenge until he got past it.

The nerves in Owain’s arm were still tingling from the weight of the strike that he’d blocked. He knew that it it was going to ache later, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins pushed that thought back. As he stepped forward, he drew a number of shallow slashes over the chest of creature. When the axe came up, Owain grit his teeth, launching his body back and to the side, dodging the weapon’s edge. With a few shaky steps, Owain had disengaged with the Risen monster, a smile spread across his lips.

The smile faded away into shock and confusion as Owain scanned the monster that still stood before him. The cuts that he had sliced across its body were there, but they seemed more like scratches than anything substantial. It was like the beast before him was made out of some sort of stone, and his sword had just glanced over the surface. It seemed that whatever this thing was, it was going to take more than a death of a thousand cuts to take it down.

Owain shot forward again, his sword pulled all the way back. The first thing that he needed to do was take care of that vicious axe. If he was hit by that, it was all over. He narrowed his eyes as he curled the fingers of both hands around the hilt of his sword. With all of his might, he pulled the sword forward for a heavy, devastating strike against the Risen’s shoulder. If he could disable its arm, it would just be punches and kicks that he had to avoid. While that would still be dangerous, it was preferable to being hit by the axe.

Vibrations ran up the sword, directly into Owain’s arms. The strike had felt like he’d tried to cut down a castle. His sword had sunk into the flesh of the Risen’s shoulder, but not nearly as deep as he had hoped. He grit his teeth trying to push the sword further as he watched the Risen slowly turn its head towards him. Owain felt his blood run cold as the creature locked its glowing red eyes on him and let out a raspy roar.

The yellow mercenary jumped back, his legs trembling as a new wave of fear washed over his body. How was he supposed to fight this thing? Even with all of his might, he hadn’t been able to cut it down. He felt like he was doing battle with a tree. Every strike made progress, but the only thing he could do was keep chopping away. The dangerous difference was that Owain had never known a tree to be armed with its own axe.

Owain’s lips twisted into a nervous smile as he tried to hide his fear, “Hah…Looks like you don’t bleed.” He chuckled as he looked at the wounds that seemed to be producing a thin purple smoke, but definitely weren’t bleeding, “My sword still hungers for justice!” He readied his sword again, keeping it pointed towards the creature, “Maybe you’ll live on as a foot-note in my legend.”

The Risen rolled its wounded shoulder, as if testing the movement of the joint. It let out a low growl as it began taking slow steps forward. Owain smirked as he shifted his stance. He’d been able to taunt the beast, now he’d see if he was ready for what came next. As long as burly creature was still nice and slow, he could keep skipping and dodging. Eventually it was going to become a problem, but by then someone would have shown up to help him.

What happened next had caught Owain completely off guard. The Risen shot forward in an instant, its axe coming down all at once. Owain had barely gotten his sword up in time. The sharp blade of the Risen’s axe cut into his blade. Owain grunted under the force of the heavy blow, gritting his teeth as he felt his joints creak under the strain. He’d had trouble tracking the movement. The monster had shot forward faster than he could follow. How had this happened? How could he be that strong, and also be so fast?

The axe lifted for a moment before it came down for another heavy strike. Owain grit his teeth again, making another heavy slash against the axe as it came down. Blocking was going to break him, but if he could deflect the blade, he might at least have an opening. He let out a roar as he threw his sword with all of his might against the side of the axe. All he needed was an opening, and then he could bury his sword into the Risen’s neck. He just needed a chance and he could turn all of this around.

The battlefield was split by a sharp snap. A spray of metallic shards bounced off the side of the axe as the sword snapped. Owain’s eyes went wide as he felt his hand move through the air with too much ease. His sword had turned into a broken mess of metal. In an instant, all of his hopes for taking down the horrible creature had been dashed. His sword had sacrificed itself to turn one last strike from that deadly axe, and now he had nothing but its broken remains.  He said a silent prayer for Fenrir’s Dark Fang, knowing that if he survived this night, it would not be the last of his weapons to give their life in his defence.

Owain jumped back, his fingers trembling as the held on to what was left of his sword, “Heh…” He chuckled weakly as he looked at the rippling body of the monstrous creature as it watched Owain’s retreat, “That sword was just sealing away my strength.” Owain moved into a flashy martial arts stance, hoping that all of his bluster would dissuade the thing from continuing its assault, “I can’t hold back the beast of destruction anymore.”

The creature let out another raspy broken breath, the possibility that it was a derisive chuckle becoming harder to ignore. Owain felt his chest deflate as the creature brought it axe up to rest on its wounded shoulder as it slowly marched forward. When this fight had started, Owain had thought he was facing off against a vicious beast that he could use as a stepping stone on his path to legend. He knew better now. What he was facing was a demon of fate. This was some sort of monster of legend. What he fought now was no mere stepping stone, it was a nightmare.

Owain felt the tremors of his fear subside as he watched the monster bring its axe up one last time. Maybe things would have gone better if he had gone after its neck or head. On the other hand, even if he had taken down this monster, there were still the shambling hordes all around. He’d gotten arrogant. Even if he somehow snatched victory from the jaws of defeat in this one case, it would only to be claimed by the rest of these Risen. At least he’d done some damage. If someone else could finish this thing, at least his life would have meant something. He crossed his arms in an attempt to block the axe as he watched it come down. His one regret was that he wasn’t going to be able to make up for his part in that assassination plot.

“HYAAAAH!”

A flash of moonlight bounced off the edge of a blade as it cut through the air before finding itself lodged into the side of the Risen monster’s neck. The brunette girl that held the sword buried her shoulder into the shoulder of the hulking Risen monstrosity. The creature staggered to the side, letting out a roar as it was pushed off of its course. The young girl let out her own roar in response before putting all of her weight behind the sword and pulling it through the creature’s flesh. Planting her foot against its chest, she kicked it back while jumping back to land between the two fighters.

“Hooo…Feels like this jerk is made out of rocks or something.” Severa felt her shoulders shake and shudder under the shock of her attack, “Still going down, though.”

The Risen staggered back and forth for a moment before finally finding its balance and straightening up again. More of the deep violet smoke was seeping out of the fresh gouge in the monster’s neck. It slowly turned its head, its broken mask of a face turning towards the young woman who’d just attacked it. The glowing red eyes flashed for a moment as it zeroed in on the new fighter. It let out a low growl from its broken and shredded throat before curling both of its meaty hands around the handle of its terrible axe.

Owain swayed slightly on his feet, “Severa?” He was still trying to process why he wasn’t dead. As he arrived at the answer that he had been saved by, and was now being defended by Severa, he began to panic. This thing that they were fighting was a terrible monster. It had broken his legendary sword. Owain had been fine sacrificing himself, but he couldn’t let Severa die too, “What are you doing here?”

Severa narrowed her eyes, maintaining her defensive stance while she cautiously watched the axe-wielding monster, “I’m here because of the warning bell, idiot.” She took a long breath to calm the tingling nerves on the back of her neck, “Don’t worry. It isn’t like I came rushing in because I wanted to save _you_ or anything.”

“You have to get out of here.” Owain took the step forward, reaching forward for Severa’s shoulder, “That thing’s nightmares made flesh! Get out of here! I’ll hold it while you escape.”

Severa rolled her shoulder out of Owain’s grasp, keeping her eyes locked on the slowly rising and falling shoulders of the burly monstrosity, “Shut up!” She narrowed her eyes and adjusted her grip on her sword, “It’d be a hassle for me if you died here.”

Owain’s fingers twitched for a moment before his arm fell to his side. Severa had always been so cautious about her feelings. For her to say something like that, it really meant something. Even though he wanted her to run away and survive with everything in him, he couldn’t make the words come out. He couldn’t tell her to run away now that she’d told him that she cared about him in her own little way.

The yellow mercenary nodded quietly before raising his hands up into his own fighting stance. Maybe he couldn’t convince her to save herself, but he wasn’t going to let her fight on her own, “He won’t stand a chance against both of us.” He ducked his head down and rushed forward before Severa could stop him. 

The brunette let out a long sigh before dashing towards the hulking beast. Telling Owain to stop wasn’t going to do anything, so she might as well take advantage of his help. She watched as the undead monster turned its head back and forth between the two fighters that were running at it. The creature took an extra moment to process these charging attacks, and because of the delay, it wasn’t able to lift its axe before Owain had lunged at it. Owain desperately grappled the axe, trying to hold it down and afford Severa her change.

Severa smirked as she stepped forward, using Owain’s shoulder as a stepping stone to jump into the air. She drew her sword back, a confident smirk on her lips as she thrust her sword forward with all of her weight behind it. The sharp point of the sword cut forward, digging into the flesh of the monster and lodging itself deep. Severa growled as the beast roared out in anger and pain. Severa pushed forward with all her might, forcing the sword as deep as it could.

With a flash of purple light, the beast roared and flailed. Owain was lifted and thrown back as the creature ripped its axe from the earth. Severa’s eyes went wide as a meaty hand came up and slammed into her gut. Another high-pitched snap cut through the air as the brunette was tossed back, her twin-tails trailing through the air following the arc of her head. The two fighters landed on their feet, skidding across the earth as they were forced back from the berserker rage of the masked Risen. It continued to roar angrily at them, it’s bellowing chorus threatening to drown out the ringing of the warning bell.

Severa brought what was left of her sword up, looking down at the broken edge where the rest of the blade had broken off. The sharp edge of the weapon was still lodged in the creatures body, a spray of the purple mist leaking out of the wound. The creature staggered for a moment before letting out another bellowing roar and raising its axe high in the air. Severa spat to her side before throwing the broken remains of her sword away and curling her fingers into tight fists. This thing had to be on its last legs at this point. She couldn’t believe that they were going to get taken down when they were so close.

A hissing whistle shot past Severa’s head, causing the girl to blink confused for a moment. The whistle stopped as it reached the mass of reanimated flesh with a wet snap. The creature swayed for a moment before bringing one of its thick-fingered hands to its face, cupping over the arrow that now sprouted from its eye. A few last ragged gasps came from the jagged chasm of its mouth as it tumbled back and forth before falling to the ground. The creature let out a low scream towards the heavens as its body began to break down into smaller flecks, floating away into the air with the deep purple smoke.

“Hehehehehe…” The sniper chuckled, her glowing eyes shooting along the swaying masses of the risen warriors that were still around all of the Shepard soldiers, “Which one next?” Noire’s shoulders continued to shake with soft chuckles as she drew another arrow from her quiver.

The rest of Noire’s family were not far behind the white-haired sniper. Robin sighed softly as he looked at the various Risen that had formed a defensive line between them and the prison. It seemed like they still had a little bit more to get through before this fight night was over. He readied his sword and looked towards the door of the prison as a handful more of the Risen began to emerge from inside. With all of these Risen, he wasn’t sure that he could keep everyone safe if things turned into a straight up melee.

A soft clapping came from the door of the prison as the dark skinned woman with white hair began walking out of the cell. Aversa smiled as she cast her eyes over the small group of Shepards on the other side of her wall of Risen guards. She crossed her arms under her breasts, her lips forming a mischievous smirk as she watched them. Robin had half-expected the Risen to charge forward and attack, but instead, they all remained stationary, swaying slightly but not daring to move forward without a command.

“Well, well…You all gathered for my farewell party? How sweet.” Aversa chuckled softly for a moment.

Robin narrowed his eyes, “I’m interested in how you plan to escape with a sniper’s arrow trained on you.”

Aversa shrugged as she looked towards the black pegasus that was slowly walking towards her, “I suppose you could shoot me…” She slowly brought her hands up, cupping the face of the black winged horse as it leaned its head down towards her, “Of course, if you did, I wouldn’t be able to stop all of these Risen from attacking.”

The strategist grit his teeth and tightened his fist around the handle of his sword. He couldn’t afford to take the shot if Aversa was telling the truth. It was a risk that he just couldn’t afford. He looked back and forth for a moment his body shaking as he tried to find a way to deal with this situation without risking that the Risen would go on a rampage. Even with all of that, he still couldn’t afford to let Aversa get away either.

“So we’re just supposed to let you go?” Tharja was the first to speak, her dark eyes watching Aversa closely through the shifting masses of Risen, “Why would we trust you not to just attack with these monsters the moment you’ve escaped?”

Aversa let out a mirthful laugh, “So little trust.” She closed her eyes and shrugged, “You can trust me because, at least for now, I’m done with all of you.” She smiled and turned her eyes to Robin, “I wanted an opportunity to investigate, to see what it was that the little Robin had that made him a better candidate for Grima’s grace than me.”

The Plegian rider took a long breath as she climbed onto the back of her pegasus. Her violet eyes turned towards Robin, staring at him with such an intensity that it felt like it pierced into his very soul, “I’ve taken your measure…” She licked her lips suggestively, causing a light shiver to run up Robin’s spine, “For now you’re still too soft…” She chuckled a little bit as she brought a slender finger to her lips, “…but if Grima does pass me over to claim your body, I think I can make you _hard_ enough to be worth serving.”

Tharja pulled a bolt of dark energy out of her tome, ready to throw it full force against the pegasus rider. She knew from experience that a pegasus knight had certain resistances to magic, but a blast filled with the seething rage that was pooling in her stomach would still pack a punch. She’d show this arrogant whore where she stood. She’d knock the vile woman off of her winged horse and get past those Risen guards before she even had a chance to issue an order. She could already hear her screams in her ears. She could already feel the blood on her fingers as she dug her nails into soft skin.

The witch had already formed a spear of crackling black energy when Robin’s hand came up in front of her and stopped her, “So you’re still trying to claim the position of Grima’s avatar for yourself?” The strategist was still watching Aversa cautiously, but wasn’t ready to let any of his team attack.

Aversa chuckled softly before rolling her head back to release the tension from being kept prisoner, “Of course.”

Robin took a long breath, his head a twisting spiral of pros and cons as he watched the dark rider prep herself for takeoff. He couldn’t really afford to let her go. If she succeeded in her mission then everything that Lucina had worried about was going to come to pass. They were going to have to fight the revived fell dragon with Aversa as its human avatar. The idea of that wasn’t great. On the other hand, given his current focus on not becoming the vessel for that terrible beast, the result of Aversa taking it onto herself meant that he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

There was no doubt in the strategists mind that what they were dealing with a twisted monster of a woman. The fact that she’d been manipulating and torturing them since she had arrived had proven that. Maybe she was right, and all of that poison on her soul did make her the perfect candidate for Grima. If that was the truth, at least Robin couldn’t imagine her becoming any worse than she already was. If he let her go, it meant that her poison would still be out in the world, but at least it would be out of their camp.

“Good luck.” Robin lowered his sword to his side. In the end, the attack had caught the Shepards off guard and left them disorganized. Based on the monsters they’d seen so far, this was what had been left over from the assault on Tiki while she’d been connecting to Naga’s power. With their camp so close, there was no way they could use that power this time. It was just safer to let Aversa go and take her army of Risen with her. If she took on Grima’s essence, at least he knew none of the Shepards would hesitate to cut her down.

The Dark Rider cast Robin a wide smile in response to his words. She directed the pegasus away from the Shepards and their camp and took off in flight. A few dark feathers escaped the creature’s wings, fluttering harmlessly to the earth where she had once been. As her silhouette disappeared over the tree line, the Risen soldiers that she’d left before shifted and swayed before marching into the shadows to follow her. The exhausted Shepards let out a collective breath, as their brutal nightmare came to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo...That was a lot. This was a pretty heavy chapter, wasn't it?
> 
> Okay, so I know you're all wondering what happens next, and waiting for my fun series of what could happen next jokes. This time I've got two competing ideas, and I'm looking for some opinions. I'll try my best not to spoil anything before it gets there.
> 
> Idea one is for the next chapter to essentially just be a nice little bonus chapter. We'd all get to take a nice little breather from the ramped up tension, and while there would probably be some light character growth, probably not a whole lot of world-changing stuff would happen. This would give me more time to think about what happens in the next big scene that I've got planned. The con is that the next chapter wouldn't really ramp up the tension, and I know how much you all love the tension.
> 
> Idea two is what I had originally planned, where we move right along to the next thing on my road-map. In this one I file away the thoughts that I recently came up with for the bonus chapter away, and maybe use them later, and you all get to the thrilling conclusion a little bit sooner. If we're all super eager to see how this story ends and we don't want to run the risk of feeling like we wasted time on a bonus chapter, idea two would be the option that you'd tell me you wanted.
> 
> So...will we have a weird fun bonus chapter? Will Owain go to the blacksmith and have a new 'legendary sword' crafted for him that he can grant a fitting name? Will we get a glimpse at a fun study montage? Will we have an exciting feast episode where everyone has a party before they split up for their separate missions? Will my audience decide they don't have time for any of that? Will we jump right into the crazy heart-pounding action? Will Lucina find out that Robin let Aversa go and cut him in half for not striking down this possible avatar of Grima? Will Walhart's advance turn out to be even faster than we expected and he'll arrive at the Shepards camp because I've been bluffing about Walhart not being important all along? Will Robin share the gritty details of his Aversa themed nightmare? Will the knowledge make a jealous Tharja seek the comfort in the arms of every other Shepard male? Will Lucina hear of the plan of locking up Robin and think that might not be such a bad idea after all? Have I blown my proverbial load on this chapter's tension, leaving me in a state where I'll never be able to get back to this level for the big finale!? Tune in next time! Same Bat-time! Same Bat-channel!


	6. A Hex Of Cupid's Arrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pause our adventure for a quick side-story. Following the night of battle with the Risen, Brady is doing his best to offer assistance at the triage tent. He's feeling a little sorry for himself, but he quickly learns that not everything about a shift at the triage tent has to be unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still alive.
> 
> Originally I was going to post this chapter and the next one at the same time. Also, originally this chapter was going to have an extra bit in it. All of that is insane because this chapter is now the longest chapter I've ever done.
> 
> Also, this is the fun bonus chapter. If you skip it, you probably aren't missing anything...other than some steamy content.

The night had been more than a little hectic. When the warning bell had started ringing, everyone had burst into action, running around to get to their stations. For some that had meant dropping the task of preparing to travel, for others it had meant a rude awakening from their night of sleep. Then, just as abruptly as the bell had started calling out its warning, everything was done and the fighters could return to their rest. That wasn’t to say that everyone in the camp was able to return to rest.

Brady let out a soft groan as he patted the back of the last of the soldiers that had headed to the medical tent. Ever since that warning bell had started ringing, Brady had been in the tent, preparing himself to be ready for the worst. Oddly enough, this surprise attack had stopped far short of the kinds of disastrous wounds that the healer had expected to see. There were a couple of cuts and bruises that the soldiers who’d faced off against the Risen had suffered. There had even been one poor fellow who’d come in with a Plegian arrow sticking out of their arm. Beyond that it had been mostly scrapes and sprains from people who were in too much of a hurry to get to the front lines and had fallen over themselves in the rush.

From what Brady had seen, his rush to get to the medical tent had been a wasted effort. It wasn’t really a surprise. The other healers had rushed out to the frontlines when they’d heard the bell. He had heard talk of a scuffle involving Chrom and Frederick fighting some Risen that were riding dragons where there had been some wounded. Of course, there had also been healers over there, so no one from that fight had made it to the healing tent. Perhaps if he had been out there with all of the fighters, he could have been healing people as they got hurt too.

That just hadn’t been possible this time. Brady could still remember that cold glare that Lucina had given him after it had been revealed that he’d saved Robin. Sure she hadn’t been happy when Gerome and Kjelle had decided not to take part. That was different though. Brady had actively worked against her plan. Saying he wouldn’t have anything to do with it was very different than taking an active role in opposing her plan. His best hope was that something distracting would happen and Lucina would forget about him and his act of rebellion against her ‘sacred mission’.

The rough looking healer let out a long sigh as he let his shoulders fall back against the tentpole. The weight of all of the fighting and all of the work was taking a toll on him. When he closed his eyes he still had nightmares of the blood and death from the future. They’d come back to stop all of that from happening, but now more than ever it seemed like they’d just brought it back with them. When they weren’t busy fighting Risen, they were dealing with the awkwardness of parents who weren’t much older than them. He needed a break from this. He needed a break from all of this.

Of course Brady knew what his parents would tell him if they could hear his complaints, or see him like this now. Maribelle would chastise her child for slouching and not being ready to give anyone who came into the tent a proper welcome. Vaike would slap his son on the back and tell him that he should toughen up if this level of work was wearing him out. He’d spent his entire childhood trying to meet his parents’ expectations. It wasn’t entirely surprising that after jumping back in time to see them again, he was still such a disappointment.

Maybe things would have been better if he hadn’t come back from the future at all. Dying would have saved him from dealing with that unspoken disappointment that he always saw in his parents’ eyes. He wouldn’t have been able to save Robin from Lucina’s plan, but maybe that would have been for the best. Maybe if he hadn’t come through the portal, Lucina’s plan would have worked and all of this would have been sorted by now. If Lucina turned out to be right, then he had played a key role in the rise of Grima and the death of everyone else. Brady brought a hand up to the scar over his eye. It wasn’t like this would be the first time he’d thought he was doing something good only for it to blow up in his face.

The flap of the tent was violently pulled back, causing the thuggish looking healer to jump a little. He turned his eyes to the entrance of the medical tent as the young white-haired sniper stomped in. Brady felt his body go tense as he watched the girl come to a stop, her head hanging forward as she stared at the earthen floor. It was in that moment that Brady finally noticed a few shallow cuts on her bare right arm.

Brady had picked up his heal staff and had crossed the distance to her side before he even realized he’d started to move. The crystal head of the staff gave off a warm green light as the magic coursed through it. With a quick wave, all of the cuts and scratches that Noire had taken in the fight sealed up, leaving nothing but dried blood and unblemished skin. Brady knew that given time a vulnerary could have achieved the same thing but he hadn’t been thinking about that when he’d seen the wounds. He’d just acted without thinking.

“Hey!” The sniper twisted away, planting a palm against Brady’s shoulder to push him away a little, “I didn’t ask for your help! I can take care of this myself! I just need some bandages.”

Deep down, Brady knew that Noire was still under the influence of her berserker totem. He knew that he shouldn’t take offence to anything that she said, knew that he should just let it go. Bowing his head and muttering a disingenuous apology was what he should have done. Unfortunately, with everything that had been happening, his blood was running a little hot. All he’d been doing was trying to look out for everyone. All he’d done was try to heal the wounds, and stop people from being haunted by regrets. He’d been doing his job, being a good healer who looked out for everyone! He’d kept going even when he knew it was going to hurt, and what was his reward for this dedication to all of them? He’d been the target of baneful glares, mutters of distrust, and now, this cutting reproachful criticism.

The blond healer’s pain and fury at this unfair situation had momentarily blinded him, pushing him into an overzealous display of emotion. The boy had roughly grabbed onto the sniper’s shoulders before roughly pushing her back and down onto one of the medical beds. His eyebrows furrowed, his face twisting into a scowl as he glared down at her, his fingers pressing hard against the thick armour plating on one side, and squeezing her naked shoulder on the other. He didn’t deserve all of this spite, especially from her! He’d stopped her from killing her own father! He was only in this situation because he’d done something for Noire’s sake!

“Oh yea!?” He nearly spat the words, “So you wanna go ‘round with a bunch’a scars, do ya?” He growled deep in his throat, “You want those to be the first thing folks see? Shy lil’ girl wants everybody t’see scars on’er arm and think she’s scary and tough!?”

Noire had been startled when Brady had taken a hold of her shoulders. The normal reaction that people had while she was still under the influence of her totem was to steer clear. No one else in the camp would have dared to grab her, and certainly none of them would have taken the next step of pushing her down. Her heart had done a little summersault in her chest at the sudden forwardness of it all and how close Brady was all of a sudden. That look in his eyes was something too. She’d spent enough time in the neighbouring bed in the infirmary tent to be able to see past that tough-guy mask he always wore. She wasn’t sure she could remember seeing him actually being angry before this moment.

Even with her heart spinning in her chest, as a victim of her bloodlust hex she couldn’t take claims that she was just a shy little girl without response, “The blubbering crybaby wants to talk to me about being tough? That’s rich!” She shifted her shoulders off of the medical cot, trying to struggle against her awkward position and the weight of the boy on top of her, “That mean face might make you look tough, but you’re not strong! At least I can go out and fight!"

Brady narrowed his eyes. They’d had a long history of getting wounded in the same fights. Conversations about what happened when Noire’s bloodlust took hold had come up. He knew that she had a habit of saying nasty things when she was riled up like this. He also knew that this berserker, this ‘Alter-Noire’ wasn’t really a different person. It was still Noire in there. It was still the shy little sniper that was saying these things. He wished now that he didn’t know that. Maybe then he could have explained away the venom-filled words as the rantings of a monster.

The healer squeezed at the girl’s shoulders for a long moment, his face twisted in anger and frustration. He felt his bottom lip tremble as he racked his mind looking for anything that he could say as a retort. There was nothing. She wasn’t exactly springing anything new on him. He knew that he couldn’t fight. The only thing he could do was swing around that healing staff. Now that he’d ruined Lucina’s plan, he expected people to be less eager for his help. It was only natural that people would start telling him how little they needed him, reminding him how useless he was. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, or for it to hurt the way it did.

He pushed the girl’s shoulders back a sour expression on his face as he stepped away, “Yer fixed up.” The words were barely above a whisper as he glared at her. He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned back to the tent’s entrance, “Bandages’re on the table.”

“You’re just going to leave?” Noire shifted up, narrowing her eyes at Brady’s back.

The healer let out a sigh before rolling his head back to look over his shoulder at the sniper, “Whaddya even want?” He didn’t have the energy for this anymore. He wanted to go back to his tent. He wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere, wrap himself up in blanket, and wait for the sun to come up. He wanted to forget that half of the Shepards were heading off into battle in the morning, and he’d been the healer that they decided to leave behind. He wanted to stop thinking about how no one was saying it was punishment for going rogue on Lucina’s plans, but it clearly was.

The magical light in Noire’s eyes flickered slightly as she watched Brady. She’d watched her words have their effect on him. She’d seen the pain and the hurt that had appeared in his eyes as he stepped away from her. Brady had always been insecure about his role in battles. He’d always been the one who ran up to the front lines and tried to take a hit for someone else. Brady was perhaps the bravest soul that she knew, and in her frustration over her situation she’d been terrible to him. She’d picked at the wound that she knew was there, used her words to stab him right where she knew it would hurt the most. He’d tried to look out for her like he always did, and she’d made absolutely sure that he hurt for it…and she had no idea why she’d done that to him.

That was a lie. Noire knew why she’d done it. The sniper gripped onto the edge of the cot, staring at Brady while the influence of the berserker charm faded in and out, “You were supposed to yell at me.” She finally let go of the edge of the cot, bringing her fist to her chest, “You were supposed to get mad and tell me that I’m a bad person.”

Brady let out a defeated sigh, “Whatever.” He rolled his shoulders a little bit as he took another step towards the exit, “I forgive you.”

Noire dug the fingers on the edge of the cot further into it, her head slumping forward, “Everyone keeps doing that.” When she looked up again, the magical light of her totem had completely left her eyes, only to be replaced by the welling up of tears. She remembered remembered Robin in the strategy tent talking about how he didn’t blame them. When she closed her eyes she could still see a frustrated Morgan telling her that her part in the plot hadn’t been her fault. She could still feel Tharja letting go of her collar, knowing that choosing not to turn her into a puddle of gore was the witch’s way of saying they could move past all of this.

“Why won’t anyone hate me!?” Noire’s bottom lip trembled as the tears flowed over, rolling down her cheeks, “I’m…I’m a bad person! I did a h-horrible thing!” She brought both of her fists up, rubbing at her eyes with her palms, sobbing incoherently.

Brady let out a long breath, his shoulders sinking as he stared at the ground. As much as her jabs at his fighting ability had stung, hearing Noire weeping was a vice around his heart. What was he supposed to do here? Did she need more space to figure everything out? He had a flash of his father in his head, telling him that walking away from a crying girl was the opposite of manly. He brought his hand out of his pocket and to the side of his face. He traced his finger over the scar over his eye, wishing that instead of Vaike’s voice he could hear his mother’s. Maribelle would have known the right thing to do.

“Yer not a bad person.” He muttered the words, staring down at the ground at his feet, “We’re all just doin’ the best we can with a shitty situation.”

Noire sniffled, drawing her hands away from her bloodshot eyes enough to see Brady still standing with his back to her, “I d-don’t d-deserve forgiveness…” She sniffled, tears still rolling freely down her cheeks, “It’d b-be easier…if everyone h-hated me…”

The rough face of healer softened at the sniper’s whimpered words, “Dummy…” He turned to face her, still rubbing a calloused fingertip over his scar, “We’re all forgivin’ you ‘cause we love you.”

Noire sniffled, her cheeks taking a pink tone as she watched Brady. Trying to run through all of the possible meanings of what Brady had said was a little harder with the accompaniment of her heartbeat pounding in her head. In the most innocent interpretation, Brady was just talking about her family. Of course they loved her and would eventually come to some level of acceptance of what she’d done. That was the way family worked. That didn’t mean that they had to forgive the horrible thing she’d done, but the knowledge that they cared was comforting. The reassurance that her family cared about her wasn’t what Noire’s brain had been tripped up by. Brady had said ‘we’.

The stress and anxiety over her self-hatred and waiting for a fitting punishment had taken a back seat. She was now flooded with a whole new set of neuroses all about what that ‘we’ meant. Had Brady really been thinking about her like that? Had he been silently watching her all this time? Was the reason that he’d stepped in to help Robin secretly because he knew that she didn’t want to have done that to him? She’d always thought that it was cool how he could come to people’s rescue when they were in trouble. She’d never considered that part of that coolness might be because he was trying to impress her.

Brady sighed as he walked up to Noire, bringing his sleeve up to dab away the tears around her eyes, “Now who’s the crybaby?” He made an attempt at a warm smirk, but gave up pretty quick when he remembered how intimidating his face usually looked. He suspected that getting close like this was probably scary enough for the nervous archer. He didn’t need to add to her anxiety by making things even weirder.

The sniper took a quick breath as she felt the back of Brady’s finger brush against her cheek. Her body shuddered as she took in his gentle warmth for the brief moment before he panicked and started to pull away. She brought up her hands quickly, catching his wrist and holding him there. The sniper girl swallowed hard as she held onto Brady’s wrist and looked up into his eyes. She remembered telling him that he couldn’t fight, but perhaps it was because he didn’t fight that his hands had such a warmth to them.

Noire spoke up with a shaky voice, “S-Say it again…”

The scarred healer narrowed his eyes at that, “Whaddya talkin’ ‘bout?” Was she angry because he’d called her a crybaby?

Noire swallowed, looking up into his eyes as she held the back of his hand to her cheek, “Tell me why you have to forgive me.” Her heart was dancing in her chest. She wasn’t sure where she’d found the courage to be this bold. Perhaps the berserker charm had somehow reactivated. Yes. That had to be it. It was the only possible explanation.

A warm blush had crept into Brady’s cheeks as it dawned on him what the girl before him was asking for. He had said that, hadn’t he? His mind raced to try and find a way that he could explain it all away and get out of this moment. Nothing was coming to mind. He supposed he could say that he hadn’t meant him, but at this point it seemed silly to lie. He winced slightly and looked up at the sagging roof of canvas over his head.

“C’mon. You don’t want me t’say that.” Brady turned his eyes away from her.

Noire pouted slightly, squeezing the healer’s wrist a little bit tighter. She didn’t say anything with her lips, but her determined and frustrated eyes spoke volumes. It occurred to her that after all of that crying, she probably didn’t look like much of a catch at the moment. Something told her that it wasn’t her bloodshot eyes or tear-stained cheeks that had Brady being so bashful. She bit her lip and decided to push a little bit further with a soft whimpering, “Please.”

Brady bit his bottom lip for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut, “I love ya! That what ya wanna hear!?”

The sniper found herself continuing to blush, still holding Brady’s hand to her cheek. Why had she wanted to make him say that? It made her feel so much better to hear him finally admit his feelings. It lit a fire deep in her heart. Sparks of joy danced throughout her body just hearing him say the words. She still had so much pain, so much horribleness that she wanted to forget. At this moment it felt so much lighter. He was there to help her carry it. Unlike her family that _had_ to love her, he had just fallen for her, as simple as that.

The feel of his strong fingers on her soft cheek was incredibly comforting for the sniper. Even if he wasn’t a fighter, the thought of those arms wrapping around her made her feel safe. Lately her life had felt like it was little more than a series of tragedies. This seemed like the one bright spot in her life. It was a warm fire that she could hold close. It was a relationship that she hadn’t managed to ruin. He could be he anchor in a raging sea of emotional chaos.

At another time, what he’d said could have been the straw that broke her back. She practically see herself becoming a victim of her anxiety and desperately looking for an escape path. Any other week and this would have been the biggest, craziest thing that had happened to her. In a world where she wasn’t desperate for anything to hold onto, the heat from her blushing cheeks would have been so intense that it boiled her brain. Instead, she was able to process all of this, to think about all of it rationally.

Brady was a good man. He was better than a mess like her deserved. He was always working to improve himself, and always self-conscious about how he was perceived. In a lot of ways, he was like the more functional version of her. Rather than sinking into despair at the thought of being useless, he had actively worked on improving himself. He was an inspiration to her. He was strong enough to step up into a fight that he couldn’t win, and he didn’t even need a cursed charm to do it.

At some point in all of that time that she’d spent watching him, she’d started to notice different things. His build was somewhere between the wiry frame of a caster, and the bulky muscle of a fighter. Noire knew she didn’t have time to have preferences in men, but that didn’t stop her from knowing that Brady’s build was it. She knew how everyone else thought about Brady, that the scar on his face and the way he talked made him sound like a scary thug. With all the time she’d spent with him, she knew better. Brady was a kind and sweet man, who’s only thoughts were of protecting people.

Noire wasn’t sure exactly when it had started, but at some point, seeing Brady had become accompanied by a flutter in her heart. Somewhere along the way, the face of the prince who would take her away in her dreams had developed a scar over his eye. When she closed her eyes and dreamed of a world after all of this fighting and blood, Brady was there by her side. He wasn’t the only one who’d fallen in love.

“You’d better take responsibility…” Noire whispered the words as she looked up into Brady’s eyes. Hope and love were dangerous things. She intended to hold him accountable for anything that happened now that he was making her believe.

Brady swallowed nervously. He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but it did conjure some particularly vivid and saucy images in his mind, “Wh-Wh-What’re ya talkin’ ‘bout?” He shifted his eyes away again, a deep blush creeping into his cheeks.

Noire stared at him for a long moment before finally realizing what Brady had heard. Her face turned bright red as she dipped her head forward in an attempt to hide her eyes. That was what people who loved each-other did, wasn’t it? It was certainly what Robin and Tharja did…and they seemed to do it quite often. Noire swallowed nervously at a memory of peeking into their tent one night. When she quickly pushed that image out of her mind, it had only been to be replaced by the wild fantasies that could play out in the triage tent. She briefly wondered if Brady was strong enough to break out of the bandages if she wrapped them around his wrists.

The sniper’s grip on Brady’s wrist slipped loose so that she could cup her palms against her cheeks. Her blush had grown so hot that steam was practically rising off of the top of her head. This had suddenly started moving way faster than she had thought it was going to. The problem was she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. They could die at any moment, the Risen attack had made that truth more real than it had ever been. Maybe reaching out to grab onto these things when they could was what they should be doing. At the very least it would help take her mind off of everything else.

“You didn’t mean it that way.” Brady let out a long breath, as he watched Noire go through a mental meltdown.

Noire bit her bottom lip, swallowing her nerves again as she tried to stare off into the distance but only found herself staring at the healer’s chest, “D-Do you w-want to?” Her voice was shaky, partly because of the way her nerves left her shoulders quiver with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Was he really going to want a dirty, useless girl like her?

Brady’s face twitched at the question. Of course he wanted to. The moment she’d put the idea in his head, certain parts of him had gotten very ready for it. That was not the proper thing to admit to inthis situation. If it had been anyone other than Noire, he would have thought this was some kind of test. Of course, if it had been anyone other than Noire, he wanted to think that he wouldn’t have been interested.

The gruff looking healer looked away again, not daring to look at Noire. It’d say too much if his eyes wandered to the large patch of bare skin just under her collar, “Y-Yeah…’Course I do.”

Noire felt like her blush had somehow intensified. Her eyes were also looking off to the side, her lips twitching nervously. Her heart was racing at a mile a minute. She shifted her legs a little, trying to get more comfortable in her position on the medical cot. She was also trying not to think too much about how close Brady was to her, or how easy it would be for him to just push her down. The thoughts of how their interaction that night had started were long forgotten. Now all she could think about was the many wild and fantastic ways that their interaction could end.

The sniper’s hands slowly slid down, her gloved fingers toying with collar of her armour, slowly loosening the snaps that held it tight. Her bottom lip twitched as she turned her eyes towards Brady, searching for his reaction. Upon seeing his blush intensify before he made a show of looking away again, she felt her lips take on a slightly more confident smile. She palmed her totem for the moment, fairly certain that she didn’t need its powers anymore tonight. Slowly she peeled the collar away. Part of her shirt fell over her naked shoulder before she moved her fingers to deal with the heavy brace that covered her other arm.

Brady didn’t know what to do. It was all coming so fast. He was thrilled with all of it, but there was no way that things were supposed to work out like this for him. A voice in the back of his head was telling him that maybe he should stop her, or at least get them both to slow down. It had trouble speaking over the parts of his brain that were caught up in the excitement of the moment. The gentlemanly thing would be to slow things down, but with Noire right in front of him, slowly unfastening her armour. There was no way he could tell her to stop.

Noire’s mind was racing with thoughts of what would happen when she drove Brady too wild to hold back. The thoughts of everything that had been going wrong in her life all faded away. Now her mind was just a swirl of wondering thoughts. How would it feel to have Brady’s strong chest pressed against hers? What would his sweat taste like when she buried her face in his neck to muffle her cries? Would Brady go slow and gentle to match his true personality, or would he ravish her like those thuggish looks suggested he might? A whimper of a moan slipped past her lips at the thought of it.

The sniper’s heart was beating so hard that it felt like it was going to crack through her ribs as it escaped her chest. She still couldn’t believe that she was doing this. Her skin burned from the heat of her blush. Her heavy breathing and over-heated nerves had made awkwardly fumbling fingers out of her usually dextrous digits. She couldn’t remember the buckles of her arm brace ever being this difficult to deal with. Her free hand, still covered by the metal brace came up, turning Brady’s head to face her. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her skin. In her mind, she could already taste his lips against hers.

“The dark powers locked away in my sword-arm will heal me. There’s no need for me to to report to the triage tent for these mere scratches.” The voice of the yellow-coated mercenary cut through the entrance-flap of the tent.

Severa’s voice was quick to respond to Owain’s complaint, “Don’t make me physically drag you.”

The voices had caused both of the young loves inside the triage tent to go tense. Brady thought he heard the joints in his neck creak as he turned to look over his shoulder at the entrance to the tent. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. His whole body was begging his friends outside to turn around and walk away. Brady’s turning had given a very nervous, and now thoroughly embarrassed, Noire an opening to move. The sniper hopped off of the cot, hugging her arms over her chest as she shot out of the tent, her head held low. Brady was too shocked to do anything but reach out after her as she exited the tent.

The two sword fighters who’s conversation had put an end to anything that might have been happening finally entered the tent. They had confused expressions on their faces as they looked back and forth between each other before looking back to the path that Noire had taken. After deciding that the sniper’s panicked dash was not entirely out of character, and also not relevant to their current issues, they turned to look back at the man who was still in the triage tent.

“Brady! Severa keeps insisting that I need healing. These meagre flesh-wounds can hardly do any lasting damage to the dark powers that dwell inside of me, but this seems the only way to calm her fears.” Owain put on his classic smirk, holding his hand up before his head.

Severa brought her hand up, gently smacking Owain in the back of the head, “Stop being stupid.” She turned her eyes to Brady, “We could both use a little patching up…” She looked around the empty tent for a moment before adding, “…if you aren’t too busy.”

Brady let out a long sigh, looking at the waving flap of the triage tent. A sour thought in the back of his mind wondered if maybe he should have gone a little bit faster. Severa and Owain probably would have chosen to nurse their wounds themselves if they’d detected the sounds of a heated encounter from inside the tent. Still…rushing things any more than they already had been doing would have definitely been too much. Knowing Noire, now that she’d been devastated by embarrassment, she probably wasn’t even going to be able to force herself to talk to him for a while.

The thuggish looking healer picked up his discarded healing staff, rolling his neck from side to side with audible pops, “Alright…” He turned, crouched over partly because it was his usual posture, and partly to hide the lingering effects of what had been happening moments before, “Lets get ya healed up.” He grumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

oOoOo

In the days after the night of the Risen attack, things at what Robin had dubbed ‘The Research Camp’, and been relatively quiet. The tactical decision to set up their camp a half-day’s march from the nearby small town had seemed like the kinder option after they’d been attacked. It meant that if they got attacked by a legion of Risen again, they’d still be far enough way from the town that at least it would be safe. Unfortunately, now that the camp was manned by a skeleton crew, it had become a little lonely. It had also become more than a little boring for the healer that had been assigned to duty at the camp.

In his busy schedule of checking the unchanging inventory of medications, and being on call for a disaster that likely wasn’t coming, Brady had a lot of time to think. Recently, his thoughts had wandered to why it was that he had been left behind. He’d arrived at two possible factors. Either Lucina didn’t trust him after his stunt to save Robin, or Chrom wanted him around Robin in case such a plot came up again in the future. It was entirely possible that the answer to why he had been left behind was actually some combination of both of those factors.

Most of the rest of the camp turned out to be exactly the people that someone would expect to stay behind. Anna, who had been one of the most vocal voices about how a plot to kill Robin was wrong had stayed behind. Severa and Owain, who had both been a little bit battered from their encounter with the masked Risen had been encouraged to stay behind to make sure that broken bones set properly. No one had confirmed it, but Brady was pretty sure they were also here to be muscle in the event that someone decided Robin really did need to die. Laurent had stayed behind, eager for the chance to de research. After that it was Robin and his family.

Morgan had been kind to him whenever they’d cross paths. Brady had to admit to sensing some tension though. It was understandable. After the thanks that he’d received from the young tactician from the future after saving her parents, their friendship felt…weird. It didn’t feel like normal greetings cut it, but what exactly was he supposed to say? He’d done what had seemed right at the time, and at least for now it still felt like the right thing. It was hard to balance the knowledge that she kept wanting to praise him for the decision that had left him stranded here.

As for Tharja and Robin, Brady couldn’t say that he’d seen all that much of them. They came out for meals, and then quickly vanished back to their tents. It made all the sense in the world to the healer. Of everyone in the camp, they had the most to lose in the event that Robin turned into a scary monster. He supposed the fact that he wasn’t seeing all that much of them was kind of its own blessing. If his interactions with Morgan had felt awkward, he could hardly imagine what having a conversation with Robin and Tharja would make him feel.

Completing their roster was the white-haired sniper. That had become intensely awkward in a much different way. Ever since the night of the Risen attack, when Noire had found herself in the triage tent, she’d been actively avoiding him. It wasn’t like Brady didn’t understand. She’d done and said things that she hadn’t meant that night, now the embarrassment was too much for her. Brady was no stranger to having done something stupid and being embarrassed. He just wanted to talk to her, to tell her that everything was fine, and he didn’t hold it against her or anything.

What was happening every time he went to talk to her was that she’d blush, hide her face, and then run away, muttering some excuse. After a day of it, he’d stopped actively searching her out. He’d decided that it was better for his self-confidence to not be chasing a girl who was constantly running away from him. It didn’t mean that he’d stopped seeing her duck out of tents when she spotted him. It just meant that he’d started to notice when it happened a little bit less.

Brady let out a long sigh as he pushed past the flap of his tent, turning around to fasten it shut behind him. Even with the sun hiding itself beyond the horizon, the inside of the tent proved to be darker than the outside. With the familiar territory, Brady could hardly be bothered with the hassle of carrying around a lamp to make it back to his tent. He could remember Vaike saying things about how a lantern took one of your hands, and if you were attacked at night it was better if your eyes were adjusted to the dark anyway. His strong muscle-memory of how to fasten closed his tent, so the fact that the shadows had stolen his sight really didn’t matter. It wasn’t like someone was going to attack him in his tent.

There was a tight grip on the healer’s shoulder, causing his body to go tense as panic coursed through his veins. The momentary panic had frozen his mind, keeping him from shouting out for help, or doing much of anything really. It was that moment of confusion that given his hidden attacker their opening. He was violently yanked backwards, turned on his feet so fast that it left him dizzy. He was roughly pushed back, his body struggling to make sense of his internal compass enough to keep his feet under him.

He closed his eyes tightly, knowing they were useless in the dark anyway, and tried to recall the image of how he’d left his room. In the dark, against an unknown assailant, the advantages that he could call upon were few and far between. In his own tent, he at least had the advantage of home-turf. In the corner of his room he knew he had a weight, he could use that as an improvised weapon. His usual staff was by his bed, and while it too wasn’t technically a weapon, in this case he could make an exception. On his desk he had an old letter-opener, which seemed like his best bet.

Before the healer could regain his bearings to make an attempt to find his desk, he was pushed back again. His heel struck hard against a chest and he went tumbling back. He was caught by a plush softness and a tangle of sheets, his legs dangling over the cedar chest that sat at the foot of his bed. While his brain still felt like it was spinning, and his avenues for movement were quickly being cut off, at least he knew where he was now.

He scrambled up the length of his bed, the heels of his boots digging into the heavy chest to propel him further. He felt a weight following him up the bed, his heart racing as he was faced with the cruel fact that his foe was still pursuing him. He grit his teeth, as that hard grip found his shoulder, the other hand curling into a fist around his collar. The weight of the body over him pushed him flat against the bed behind him.

Brady’s mind returned to his list of possible defences, grasping for any hope to keep himself alive for a little longer. He thrust his free arm out to the side, his desperate fingers finding the smooth shaft of his healing staff. With narrowed eyes, he pushed some of his energy into the body of his healing tool, causing the crystal head to give off a faint green glow. If he was going to die, he’d at least know the face of his killer so that he could watch for them in the next life.

“Noire?”

The faint green light danced across her features. The circlet that usually held her hair back was missing, leaving her white tresses to fall like a curtain around her face. The normally worried an uncertain expression was missing from her face, instead replaced by a clear confidence. Brady had only ever seen that kind of expression on her face when she was on the battlefield. He wasn’t sure what he’d done recently to have earned her ire, but he knew the way she fought. She was a woman possessed, and his staff was not going to be enough to save him.

Confused and afraid, Brady tightened his grip around his staff and tried to present a brave face. If this was some sort of plan, if Lucina had left her back here with orders to murder him, then she was in a position to do it. He didn’t want her to know that though, “Look, I dunno what this-”

The healer’s words were cut off when the sniper pulled him up slightly while bringing her own face down. Brady winced, his mind lost in confusion as the girl claimed his lips in a rough kiss. It took him a few extra moments to even realize what was happening, let alone to start actually processing what it meant. His eyes went wide as the girl’s tongue probed against his lips for a moment before forcing its way into his mouth.

When the sniper finally pulled away, the two of them were still connected by a thin strand of saliva. Brady was left gasping, staring up at the girl in the faint green light that his staff offered him. If this had all been some sort of distraction tactic to make him drop his guard so it was easier to kill him…well, then it had definitely worked. He’d relaxed into her grip, and the staff had almost slipped out of his grasp. He couldn’t see himself finding the will to actually fight her if that was what it was going to come to.

“Why’d you stop chasing me?” Noire’s voice came out in a husky growl as she tightened her grip on his collar.

Brady blinked a few times, his brain still lost in the haze of the crushing kiss, “Wha?” He looked up into her eyes, hoping to somehow be able to read her emotions, “Ya kept runnin’ from me.”

Noire loosened her grip, her fingers moving to the front of Brady’s robes before her fingers started to dextrously unfasten the buttons she found there, “So you didn’t keep chasing me?” Her eyes flashed down to the work that her hands had taken up, “Am I not worth chasing?”

The healer shifted uncomfortably as he felt Noire settle herself down on top of him. He brought his hands up to hers in a weak attempt to stop her advances, “I wanted to give ya space. Ain’t that what I’m supposed t’do?”

Noire squeezed her fingers around the sides of Brady’s partly parted collar. Her bottom lip trembled as she stared down at the freshly bared skin of his neck. In the reasonable part of her mind, she knew he was right. She’d spent all of that time blushing and ducking out of tents, running away, and hiding the moment she saw him. The way she was acting, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he thought she hated him.

In truth, the sniper had been too scared to face him after everything. She’d been trying to build up her courage, to find the right thing to say. She’d been hoping that maybe if she ran slowly enough, he’d be able to catch her and she wouldn’t have to say anything. After it had become clear that he wasn’t chasing her anymore, she’d had to deal with the knowledge that she’d successfully scared him off. That had never been her intention. As such, she’d come up with a daring plan…a plan that was much too daring for the regular, shy, innocent Noire. It was the kind of plan that involved her activating the berserker charm, and hoping to keep it under control enough that no one got hurt. So far so good on that front.

While keeping her violent tendencies under control was a victory in its own right, she couldn’t qualify this plan as a success. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing anymore. After what had happened in the triage tent, she’d been so embarrassed she thought that she wanted to die. Every time she spotted Brady after that, she felt her heart speed up, and the heat creep into her cheeks, and she just had to run away. Every time he’d chased her, it had felt exhilarating…and then he’d stopped chasing after her. Of course he had. Who wanted to be chasing the creepy shy girl around camp?

The more she’d thought about that, the more frustrated she’d gotten, and eventually it had all just come to a head. She’d wanted Brady to continued to chase her, and was frustrated beyond belief when he’d stopped. At first she’d thought that the one she’d been upset with was the rough looking healer. He’d said that he loved her. Didn’t that mean he was supposed to keep chasing her? The more she thought about it, the clearer it became. The one she was actually frustrated with was herself. She’d been playing games and making things complicated.

She hated her weak self who kept her head down and did whatever she was told. She was disgusted by her shy self that couldn’t find the words to even try and thank Brady for what he’d done for her family. She was embarrassed by her needy self that ran around camp, always looking over her shoulder to see if he was still chasing her. In the end, all that was left was a downward spiral of self-loathing and insecurities, about how weak and indecisive she’d been. After facing her hated reflection she decided that the was only one course of action that made sense. She’d act as far against her nature as she could. She’d squeeze every ounce of courage out of the berserker charm, and do something bold.

The sniper arched her back, thrusting her chest forward slightly while she gripped onto Brady’s collar. It was only at that moment that the healer became aware of just what it was that Noire was wearing. While it maintained the green and black motif of her usual attire, it left much less to the imagination. The small green and black top strained to cover the swell of her breasts, and did little to cover much of anything else. It seemed held up by two thin straps that connected to the green collar around her neck, and was held to her body by two slightly thicker straps that circled around to her back. A loose bow dangled below her cleavage, dancing over her bare abdomen. When Brady’s eyes ventured further down, he discovered the skimpy bottoms that somehow seemed to cover even less than what he imagined underwear would. She reminded Brady of paintings he’d seen of forest nymphs, or maybe some sort of goddess of summer.

Noire narrowed her eyes as she placed her hands on Brady’s belt. Her fingers, dextrous from a lifetime as an archer, made quick work of the belt before shifting and sliding into the healer’s robes, “Of course I didn’t want you to give me space.” She undid knots, unfastened buttons, and dug past cloth in a desperate hunt for skin, “I wanted you to catch me. When I panicked, you were supposed to silence me with a kiss.” A light blush crept into her cheek as she realized she might be confessing to a little bit too much, “Then you’d push me down, tell me we were continuing where we left off, and claim your hero’s reward.” She shuddered as the hand that wasn’t searching for him in his robes ventured to the space between her thighs.

Brady let out a sharp gasp when Noire’s fingertips finally made it into his loose robes to brush against his skin. His hands shot up, curling around the sniper’s wrist to keep her from finding her target, “What’re you tryin’ t’say?”

“Ugh.” Noire growled as she leaned forward, “I wanted you to ravish me.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile, imagining the powerful and confident expression that her mother often wore, “I wanted you to pin me down, strip me bare, and take me.” She pulled back, using maybe a little bit too much force in the attempt to free her wrist from Brady’s grasp. While she’d been successful in freeing herself, it had caused her to teeter back a little bit before struggling to regain her balance.

She never did succeed in regaining her balance. Instead Brady had clapped his hands over her hips, and pushed her over. With a quick roll, Noire found her back pressed to the bed, with Brady’s body hovering over her, his hands pressed into the bed on either side of her. She narrowed her eyes, at him, unsure if she was upset or excited at this new turn of events. The decision was made for her when Brady pushed forward, the hardness in his robes rubbing deliciously against the moist spot at the front of her bottoms. The staff that he had stuck left propped up at the head of the bed still gave off enough soft light that she could see his smirk. Her lips trembled as she struggled to hold back the noise of her reaction, not willing to let the sound betray her pride.

Brady stared down at her, his robes hanging loosely from his body. A long dart of skin from his neck to his navel was visible between the parted sides of the black fabric. In any other circumstance, he would have been impressed with how quickly and completely she had dealt with his robes. Instead, Brady’s attention was focused on the sniper’s heaving chest, and the way her breasts strained against her top. He slowly looked up, his eyes trailing up to her face.

“You sure about that?” Brady dug his fingers into the bed on either side of her.

With her mind conjuring up fresh new sexual fantasies to match their duel for dominance, Noire had almost forgotten what he was asking. She pushed her bottom lip out in a pronounced pout, glaring up at the boy who was denying her, “Stop asking silly questions.” She brought he hands up, letting them rest on the pillow on either side of her head in a gesture of surrender.

Brady shifted into a more upright position, sliding his hands down her body. Locking his eyes with hers, he hooked his thumbs under the edge of her skimpy bottoms, slowly sliding them over her hips and down the length of her legs. She closed her eyes, letting him do as he pleased, and shivering at every brush of his calloused fingers over her soft skin. She stayed limp, letting him pull her legs up and together to draw the tiny scrap of fabric past her knees, to her ankles, and finally off of her body completely. Once her legs were finally free, she let them fall to rest on his shoulders, doing her best to cast him a seductive smile as she gazed into his eyes.

Brady shifted uncomfortably as the front of his robe finally parted enough that he was freed from his robes. Noire shuddered when she felt his naked length against the moist lips of her sex. Both of them gasped when Noire used the grip she had on him with her legs to try and shift even closer, causing a sinful friction between them. Her eyes fluttered close as she bit her bottom lip, every part of her body feeling the icy chill of excitement, or the burning heat of need.

“Are you sure?” Brady felt his breath shudder as he looked down at her. A childhood of lessons with his mother had taught him that a true gentleman could show restraint in any situation. The healer had to admit, it had never been nearly as hard as it was in this moment.

Noire let out a gasp, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked up at Brady, “You’re -huff- _still_ asking that?” She struggled to keep her ragged breathing in check while crossing her wrists just above her head, “I -haff- want you to fuck me -haff- Silly.”

Brady roughly grabbed Noire’s tiny top in both of his hands. The fabric let out a cry of protest, giving way as he yanked his fists in opposite directions. Noire felt a dark moan claw its way out of her throat as he breasts were freed from the tight prison of her tiny top. She threw her head to the side, looking to the shredded remains of her top that had been torn from her and cast aside on the bed. It was only when her eyes found the shredded top that she noticed a point of failure in her grand plan.

The fact that Noire’s summery attire had left so little to the imagination had been the outfit’s greatest strength. The seductive amount of skin that it left on display had not come without a cost. In her usual outfit, there were plenty of places that she could have hidden her totem of power. Hiding it in the shirt had seemed preferable to trying to find enough space in those tiny bottoms to hide it. The top had served as an excellent pocket…at least until it had been removed. She wondered briefly why she hadn’t considered that her top might leave her person when she’d hidden her totem there. That curiosity was immediately replaced by the cold realization that, without the totem, she now lacked the confidence and bravery that had gotten her in this position.

Noire’s eyes went wide as she felt one of Brady’s strong hands curl around her crossed wrists, pinning her hands to the bed above her head. She gasped as she felt him adjust himself with his other hand, positioning the head of his shaft against the entrance of her weeping sex. She felt her heart beating so hard it might break her ribs, and felt a tightness in her throat like it was trying to escape out her mouth. Her lips parted as she realized that the meaning of her words might have been lost in her ragged breathing.

The sniper ran out of time before she could explain the subtle, but important, difference between ‘fuck me, Silly’, and ‘fuck me silly’. Her voice was stolen from her when the healer pushed his hips forward, sinking himself into her in a single thrust. Her toes curled as her body was assaulted by a terrible mixture of pleasure and pain. Her head buzzed and her ears rang as her brain tried to keep up with all of the conflicting signals. She grimaced slightly, tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to ignore the stabbing pain of losing her innocence.

Brady had to admit that he had lost his self-control for a moment. The girl of his dreams was on his bed, mostly naked, and asking him to go wild on her. If he’d been able to resist, he’d have sent in a petition to class up from cleric to saint. A tidal waves of lustful hormones and the blissful sensation of Noire wrapped around him was still not enough to stop him from noticing her tears. His heart sank into his stomach like a stone as his eyes traveled down Noire’s body. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he traced the fingers of his free hand over Noire’s fold, bringing them before his face to find a trickle of blood smeared on his fingertips.

Noire shook her head desperately as she looked up at the shocked and horrified expression on Brady’s face, “D-d-don’t…” Her bottom lip quivered as she looked up at him with pleading eyes behind her tears of pain.

He was going to leave her now. That was what was going to happen. He was going to be disgusted with her for being so shameful, so wonton in her pursuit of him. He was going to think she was creepy. He was going to think this was all some sort of weird elaborate trap. She screwed her eyes shut and let out a whimpering sob. He was going to tell her that she was spoiled now, that she was broken, damaged goods. He was going to storm away and never look at her again.

“Shit…” He whispered the word as he looked down at the crying and whimpering girl below him. He looked around the bed for something…he wasn’t even sure what anymore. When he found the tatters of her shirt, he finally spotted the totem that he’d inadvertently ripped from her body. His blood went cold as he looked to the girl, filled with the icy fear that the person he was now inside of was not the person that had given him consent, “Oh shit…”

When Brady began to pull back, Noire’s eyes flashed open. She struggled against his grip, twisting against the bed, “No…Stop…nononono….stahp” She gulped for air her voice a mixture between unintelligible gasps and desperate protests.

“I know.” Brady winced as he continued to try and ease himself back, “I gotta pull out…then I’ll…” He grit his teeth, knowing that at this point there wasn’t a whole lot that he could do, “We’ll figure it out.” He just wanted to say something to offer her some comfort, even if it was hollow.

Noire grit her teeth. She couldn’t let him pull away now. If he stopped now, they’d be defined by this. If he stopped now, she’d never be able to look at him again, and he’d never be able to look at her, at least not the same way. Even if he didn’t hate her for keeping this a secret, it would just mean he’d blame himself for what he’d done. She needed to stop him, but how? She was the cowardly girl who just did whatever anyone said. All of the courage that she needed to call upon to tell him that it was alright was in that totem, and out of reach. Even if it had been in reach, what would a brave Noire have even said to turn this dire situation around?

In her desperate search for the right words, Noire tried to think of the most confident people she knew. She grit her teeth as a clear image appeared in her mind, of raven hair, and an aura of magic that was so potent it almost had a smell. Noire marshalled all of the courage in her small frame, and imagined what her mother might say in this position.

“D-d-don’t you d-dare stop…” Her bottom lip trembled as she stared at Brady with resolute eyes.

Brady froze in place as he looked at Noire for a long moment, “Wha…?”

Noire continued to watch Brady, her bottom lip quivering. The words had become easier to find once she realized she was more afraid of Brady stopping than she was of the pain he’d cause her if he went wild, “Would you -huff- p-prefer that the -haff- h-helpless maiden b-beg?”

Brady shuddered slightly as he looked down at Noire, “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?”

Noire tried to arch her back slightly, feeling the pain of Brady’s first thrust slowly start to ebb away, “I’m -haff- p-pretty sure I asked you -puff- to f-f-fuck me silly…” She forced her pain to the back of her mind and put on a disappointed pout, “You want me -huff- to b-b-beg for it…?”

Brady swallowed another lump in his throat, bringing his hand up to the still glowing staff. He curled his fingers around it as he looked down at her, the warm green glow surrounding them. He felt his heart pounding against his chest as the anxiety of the fact that this was Noire’s first time mixed with the lust brought on by her words. It was a ferocious battle between the two powerful emotions, and he wasn’t sure which would win at the moment. He closed his eyes, trying not to look at her too much, knowing that her heaving breasts and flushed cheeks might prove too much. He’d cast enough of a healing spell to take away her pain and then he’d put an end to this. That was the sensible choice.

“Oh Brady…please…” She did her best to coo, looking up at him through her eyelashes, “Please…f-fuck me…” She was slowly getting her breathing under control, but chose to continue with breathy whispers. She did her best to channel her mother, to seduce the healer with dark and sultry whispers, “Fuck my virgin p-pussy…” Every moment that he didn’t pull away was avictory that fuelled her begging, “…with your big…” she attempted to rock her hips against his, “…hard…” She pulled on his shoulders with the back of her legs, wishing briefly that they were wrapped around his hips, “…cock…”

The pain that had been assaulting her had melted away, replaced by a gentle warmth. Without the pain, she had even less reason to stop her begging, “Use me…Fuck me…Drown me in your seed…” She gasped when that bit of begging shook Brady’s self restraint enough for a tiny thrust, “Brady…I need it…” Her voice lacked the fun play it would have had if she had been teasing him. Instead it dripped of “I need you…to fuck me silly-eeeeEEEEEE!!!”

Noire almost bit her tongue when Brady roughly thrust forward, once again pushing himself as deep into her as he could. The pain that had been there before was gone, nothing but a white hot pleasure in its place. Her body shuddered as bolts of white hot pleasure shot from where the tip of his spear had pierced her all the way through her body. Her vision flashed white before going hazy, a dizzy feeling swirling around the inside of her skull. She’d felt herself squeeze down on him with all of her energy. She felt the walls of her sex memorize every contour of his manhood as she shuddered in orgasmic bliss.

Brady stayed perfectly still, grunting as he tried to ride out the shuddering and squeezing of Noire’s body below him. He let out a long hiss as the breath that he’d been holding escaped him, “Gods…” He cursed quietly as he glared into Noire’s eyes, “You know how -huff- hard it is to focus on healing -haff- when you’re talking like that?” His knuckles had gone white with how hard he was squeezing the healing staff.

A low noise slipped past Noire’s lips as she lazily turned her head to look at the staff. Her mind was still spinning, but she understood that the reason her pain was gone was because of Brady’s healing talents. As a healer, Brady had a talent for making the hurt go away. She smiled as she rolled her head back to look up at Brady, “ -haaaff- …doesn’t hurt… -haaa-”

The healer let out a shuddering breath as his eyes trailed from Noire’s flushed face to her wrists, still caught in his grasp and pinned above her head. This wasn’t how a girl’s first time was supposed to be. He was going to have to remember all of his mother’s lessons about practicing restraint, “I think…” The lustful hormones coursing through his veins begged him not to say it, “I think we aught’a stop ’n think ‘bout this.”

Noire let out a low groan and struggled in Brady’s grasp. If they stopped and thought about it he’d find a reason not to start again. Her shy and cowardly nature meant she’d agree with him, and that would be it. She needed to stop him from stopping, but in her hazy, post orgasmic state, could no longer imagine what the dark witch would say in this situation. More than ever she needed the bravery that she always lacked. Out of instinct she turned her eyes to the discarded charm.

“M-My totem…” She murmured the words, her pleading eyes flashing back to Brady’s confused expression.

The healer reached over to the charm, plucking it from the destroyed remains of Noire’s top. He held it up in front of her, taking the time to look at the strange weaving of the threads that made it up. His stomach fell again as he considered that what she might be trying to tell him was that this was all the totem’s fault. Clearly she would never have gone anywhere near this far without it. The cursed thing had tricked them both, and he was still doing this unforgivable thing to her.

He did his best to push that fear down, “Whatabout it?”

Noire used all the strength she had to push herself off of the bed. Parting her lips she dipped her head forward, catching the small charm with her teeth. When her head fell back to the pillow, her eyes had a dark magical gleam to them. She glared up at Brady, the charm still clutched between her teeth and hanging out the side of her mouth. Her glare was cold enough to freeze Brady’s blood. He winced, knowing that he’d awoken the demon of the battlefield. Now she was going to take her revenge on him for the fact he’d stolen her innocence.

“Even after I begged!?” She growled the words through her clenched teeth, “I told you to do whatever you want with me.” She’d begged. The fact that he was ignoring those requests was so much that even with her shy social skills, she would have been frustrated, “You’ve got me naked and pinned down, so even if I wanted, I couldn’t stop you.” She shuddered softly, the shy part of her brain trying to remind her that being helpless before a lustful beast was something she should be panicked about. It was too late for those kinds of thoughts.

Noire’s eyes flashed to the still glowing healing staff, “When I asked you to fuck me silly, I meant use ever charge left in that staff to recover enough to fuck me again!” Oh gods! Why had she said that? That had definitely been too far! She could feel him pulling back, drawing out of her. Her hyperbole had been too extreme, and she’d made him run away.

“You asked for this.”

Brady’s hips slammed forward in a single hard stroke. Noire’s world exploded in white as she cried out at the sudden assault. The charm fell from her lips, lost to the sheets as her body squirmed in an attempt to adjust to its new fullness. She had a brief moment of that squirming before that fullness retreated again. She was too breathless to make any sounds of protest to the empty feeling. Even if she’d had the voice, she lacked the time as Brady slammed his hips forward again, piercing the sniper to her core.

Brady didn’t slow his pace. She’d asked for this, begged for it even. He had to grit his teeth to hold himself back from bursting too early, but he wasn’t going to give in now. No. With how much of a fuss she’d make, he wasn’t going to stop until she squealed for mercy…and maybe not even then! He pounded his cock into her, over and over, not sure if it was the passion that had seized him, or if he was attempting to punish her somehow. He felt her pussy squeezing and pulsing around his invading length, struggling not to become as helpless to the pleasure as she was.

Noire’s words were stolen from her. All she had left were breathless moans, pushed out of her lungs with every one of Brady’s ruthless thrusts. She tried to tug on his shoulders with her legs, but found that all of her strength had left her body. Sweat beaded on her skin as he treated her in a way befitting of his brutish looking scar. For a moment she thought of the adult novel that she’d bought from Anna about the bandit and the helpless maiden. Late nights of reading and fantasizing could never have prepared her for the reality of having her very own ruthless bandit.

The healer had brought his free hand down under Noire’s round bottom, pulling her up slightly as he continued his fevered pace. He continued pounding into her while he dragged her hands up the headboard. The power of Brady’s thrusts had slowly been pushing her further up the bed, slowly but steadily. Finally she’d had to roll her shoulders and tilt her head forward, reading it against the cool wooden surface of his headboard. The new angle meant that when she opened her eyes, she could watch Brady’s stiff shaft as it slid in and out of her quivering sex.

Brady felt a twitch deep inside. He knew that this wasn’t destined to last much longer. Honestly, he’d nearly blown his top on that first thrust, then again just with Noire’s spirited begging. He’d been on the verge since he’d started. He could at least tell from the way that Noire’s body kept shuddering that he wasn’t the only one on a quest to find enlightenment. He gasped softly, feeling his end, and suddenly realizing that they hadn’t discussed what happened at that point.

“Nnnghnn!!” Brady grit his teeth, using all of his might to hold back the flood, “Gonna-”

“Yes!” Noire moaned the word as she looked up at Brady, her body twitching, begging to feel his release deep inside of her.

Brady slammed his hips forward one last time. Noire’s lips parted in a deep moan, her eyes screwing shut as she felt Brady’s length twitch between her quivering folds. She felt his hot seed burst forth, coating her insides, in a quest to fill her every nook and cranny. The soft warmth in her belly crept out through the rest of her body, leaving her with a warm buzz. The intoxicating warmth washed away the aches of her muscles, but also left her hanging slack from Brady’s grasp.

A mewl of disappointment escaped the archer’s lips when she felt Brady pull his hips back. She could feel some of that warmth escaping with him, running down her thighs. When she felt the bedsheets on her naked backside, she weakly pushed against Brady’s hold on her wrist. He seemed to ignore her weak struggle, the hand that had been holding her off of the bed moving off to the side. Instead of following his hand, Noire’s eyes locked onto Brady’s member, still coated in their combined juices. She felt a certain level of pride knowing that all of that had been inside of her.

As the warm green glow became a little bit more intense, Noire briefly looked up to the staff that Brady was holding. She smiled weakly, still in a bit of a daze, and then looked back to Brady, seeing life slowly returning to his spent erection. The archer shuddered as she had a sudden memory of a challenge that she had put forth when she had been feeling brave. She let out a low moan, her mind struggling to decide if she was horrified or delighted by the fact that Brady had taken up her challenge. As she thought back to her fantasy of living out the story of the helpless maiden and the bandit, she recalled that the bandit in the story had possessed an unnatural stamina. She let her arms go limp as she accepted that at least this would be accurate to the story.

Brady took a long breath as he looked down at Noire’s limp form, “Y’ready to stop?” 

Noire recognized his kindness. She had dug herself into a hole and he was offering her one last chance to escape from it. It was that kindness that had made her fall in love with him. She knew that if she asked him to stop now, that would be the end of it. He’d let go of her wrists, wrap his arms around her, and hold her against him. She’d snuggle into the safety of his embrace and drift into a peaceful slumber. While it might have been a little bit rough, she couldn’t have imagined a better first time. She closed her eyes and let her shoulders fall back onto the pillow.

“Pretty sure you can still use your ‘ _staff_ ’.”

Oh gods! Why had she said that? Had her totem been just under her shoulder this whole time? He’d understand that it had just been a cheeky innuendo, right? She couldn’t feel it there, but clearly that had to be what had happened. She slowly opened her eyes, looking at Brady through her eyelashes. Whatever had happened, she’d made the decision. She could already feel her body roaring in anticipation of another round or two. She licked her lips as she thought back to her night-time reading again, trying to recall if there was anything she could suggest.

Brady slowly shook his head. She clearly didn’t know what she was asking for, “This staff’s brand new.” She couldn’t really mean it.

That was definitely too much. Noire’s mind started to spin. He was joking right? How many times could you use a standard healing staff anyway? Could she hold it together that long? How would he use her first if she told him to do whatever he wanted? Would he bind her wrists with his belt to free up his hand? What would he taste like? If she passed on this chance to stop things, would he offer her another? What if he didn’t? Oh, Naga! Was this a safe day? She thought she’d checked, but she couldn’t remember anymore! She had to tell him to stop.

“Sounds like you don’t have time to ask permission anymore.” Why couldn’t she stop making this worse!? If she didn’t say something now he really was going to keep going until the staff was depleted, “Do I need to start begging again?”

Brady let a long breath out through his nose. He was going to lose it if she started ‘begging’ again. He slowly let go of the staff.briefly if he should do something to physically stop her from begging. If she wanted him to keep going no matter what she said, he might as well gag her. Maybe he could just give her lips something better to do. He shook his head slowly. What was he even thinking? She didn’t really want what she was asking for. This was just that totem putting words in her mouth.

That theory fell apart when he noticed the totem laying on the bed next to the pillow. He leaned down over her, snatching it with his free hand. He stared into her eyes from a few inches away as he brought the totem up and hung it from the head of his staff and out of sight. With the totem safety out of play, he brought his hand down to adjust his length into position against the lips of her dripping sex. He whispered softly, his lips almost brushing against hers, “Don’t you dare start beggin’.”

“If my begging is too much for you, you’ll just have to keep me from saying anything.” She resigned herself to the truth that every time she spoke it just escalated the situation. She licked her lips, finding them a bit too dry, “There are lots of ways you could do that…” Her thoughts of him crushing his lips against hers to swallow any protest faded away when she realized her vague suggestion could mean something much more risqué. She let out a dark moan as she wondered what he might taste like.

Noire’s moan turned into a squeal of pleasure when Brady rocked his hips forward, pushing his hard length between her folds. How she had ended up there stopped being important. What would happen next melted away. With her dwindling strength she attempted to wrap her legs around Brady’s hips. Her lips parted in a series of low moans, and the shy voice that had tried to talk its way out of this was washed away by endless waves of pleasure.

oOoOo

A wet slapping sound filled the tent. The fading glow of the healing staff was all but gone, just a few embers of magic remaining. Noire was letting out weak squeaks in time with Brady’s thrusts. Her hazy, unfocused eyes stared forward to the foot of Brady’s bed. He’d thrust his hips, pushing her forward, and then just as her momentum stopped, he pulled her back with his grip on her wrists. She could feel the sticky mess of their mixed fluids running down the inside of her thighs. She’d lost count of how many times this would make.

She still remembered early on when he’d dared to take a break, and she’d teased him with more of her begging. Her reward had been for him to tie her wrists behind her back with his belt and pull her face first into his lap. She’d eagerly accepted, drawing on reserves of energy that she hadn’t known she had. She could still taste him on her lips. When she’d finished and he’d pushed her onto her back, she remembered opening her mouth to proudly display the fruits of her labour. She remembered the thrill as she swallowed her sticky reward and watched life return to Brady’s length without the aid of his magic.

Noire was slammed back into the present when Brady pulled her back into a particularly rough thrust, “NNAAAUGHHH!” Her body shook as another orgasm exploded through her body, making her sex squeeze at its welcome invader in an attempt to bring him with her.

With another hard thrust, she felt him twitch. She threw her head back in a deep moan as she felt him pump another thick load of his spunk deep inside of her. His hips twitched a few more times, his tight grip on her wrists pushing him further into her as he tried to fill her completely. With a few final twitches, he’d emptied himself into her once again.

As he finished, Brady pulled the exhausted sniper back into his chest as he sank back against the head of his bed. He wrapped one arm around her from behind, hugging her close to him. Her head fell forward, looking down as he slipped from inside of her. She weakly brought her hands forward, cupping them over her sex as if she could stop his sticky seed from escaping her.

She saw the warm green glow of the healing magic intensify, briefly, and felt a warm energy return to her exhausted body. She groaned softly and looked over to the staff for the first time since they’d started. The green light finally vanished, replaced by the early morning sun filtering through the canvas of the tent. Her eyes fell down again, taking note that Brady hadn’t used the magic to restore himself again.

Noire lifted Brady’s arm from her body, letting herself fall forward. Brady was too exhausted to stop her, though he did hold his arm up briefly as if he was reaching for her. The sniper crawled forward a bit before turning around to look at Brady, her body swaying slightly. She smiled softly before dipping her head forward, capturing the tip of Brady’s shaft between her lips.

“Ahnn…Noire…” Brady let his head fall forward, his breathing still ragged, “What’re ya doin’?”

Noire pulled her head back slowly, letting Brady’s slowly recovering shaft escape her lips with a lewd ‘pop’, “Mmmmah…I earned this…” She placed a soft kiss at the head of his twitching erection, “All of your seed -muah- belongs to me.”

Brady gasped, throwing his head back as Noire wrapped her lips around him again. He brought his hand up slowly, letting it rest on the girl’s shoulder, “Haaa…there’s no more magic…”

Noire smirked as she pulled back and looked up into Brady’s eyes. She placed another quick kiss against the head of his cock, “Do you want me to stop?” She wrapped her lips around just the bulbous tip of his shaft, sucking lewdly as she looked up into his eyes.

The healer groaned softly as he watched the lustful and mischievous glint in Noire’s eyes, “I’m gonna get you back for this…”

Noire felt a shiver of anticipation shoot up her spine at the vague, but appealing threat. She moaned darkly as she imagined what sort of delightful punishment awaited her. With any luck, when they finally stopped to rest, Brady would be the first one to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha. Was that worth the wait? Did we all have fun? Did we enjoy the little callback to Hex Called Love? Are we all super okay with the totem play because I made it pretty clear that brave Noire and shy Noire are 100% the same person?
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter is going to come out. I've got some stuff written for it, and potentially I'm halfway there...unless it becomes another unchained monstrosity like this chapter did.
> 
> Will Brady be the first one to wake up? Will he use his belt to tie Noire's wrists behind her back and find himself another healing staff to start all over again? Will Tharja and Robin notice that Noire and Brady are now very much an item? Am I getting any better at writing sex scenes? Will the spells that are meant to save Robin require the blood of a virgin (which is now in short supply in the camp)? Are we ever going to get that sexy Tharja/Robin scene that we're all still waiting for!? Tune in next time! Same bat-time! Same bat-channel!


	7. A Hex Called Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dark clouds rolling in from the horizon are taking a toll on our heroes. What comfort can be found in the last moments of calm before the coming storm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'd be funny if I just posted this and didn't address the fact that it took me six months to write it, right?

Grima opened his eyes, taking in a deep breath of the steam-filled air. He’d found himself sitting in a bathhouse that looked over a sprawling Plegian castle town. A black leathery curtain stretched across a section of the open ceiling, holding in the thick fog of steam from the water. His eyes traced the pale moonlight as it danced over the rooftops of the silhouetted buildings of the castle town. This was the view afforded to him as a true ruler. He slowly closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the water, and the knowledge of his unquestionable authority.

“Lord Grima…”

The dark eyes of the avatar flashed open again. He processed the sound for a moment, but didn’t turn his head back to the entrance. He almost immediately recognized the voice of Validar’s pet witch. Something about Aversa’s voice stirred warmed memories of a forgotten childhood. Grima pushed such thoughts away, instead focusing on the fact that the pet that Validar had been willing to throw away had clawed her way back. The level of tenacity and strength that she had exhibited in her return was impressive. Grima was more than willing to make use of her, even if Validar was willing to cast her aside…as long as he could be sure of her loyalty.

“The rest of the castle is too afraid to approach me unless I’ve summoned them.” The avatar drew his hand out of the water, watching as the drops of cloudy, mineral rich water ran down his arm, “I’m trying to decide if your fearlessness should be commended, or condemned.”

Aversa’s lips formed a wicked and calculating smirk as she took another step into the steamy bathhouse, “I apologize. I was just so eager to see you, and I thought I should make my report directly to your divine ears.”

She moved with the slick grace of a predator. The small towel that she had wrapped around herself made a joke of modesty. Straining to conceal her curves, the little that it hid seemed more taboo than if she’d remained nude. Her naked feet were silent against the thick boards of the smooth wooden floor. Her hips and shoulders swayed sensually with every step she took, one hand holding the towel at her chest, the other arm bent behind her back. The heat and steam had brought a healthy flush to her skin that could have been confused for a blush if she had not been exuding a dangerous and seductive aura.

With his hand still held up before him, the avatar gave a waving motion, “Very well. Make your report.”

The Dark Flier narrowed her eyes slightly, actively searching for any opportunity that she could take advantage of, “The Shepards are concerned that you intend to take possession of their strategist’s body.” She took a few more slow steps across the smooth wood of the bathhouse, “When they fail to stop you, they intend to use his body as a trap, to kill him with you inside, in the hopes that doing so might somehow diminish your divine might.”

She had settled down at the edge of the water, curling her legs under her body as she knelt down just behind him. She was close enough now to reach out and touch him, but held back for the moment. In a game such as this, patience could prove to be her greatest ally. She wanted to foster the longing and anticipation, to savour these moments before contact. She licked her lips as she waited for the perfect moment to make her move. She could practically taste it.

The avatar shrugged, closing his dark eyes again, “I can see how you might find that concerning.” He let out a long breath before sinking a little further into the hot water of the bath, “Even if they had the fortitude to follow through on such a plan, it is of little consequence.”

Aversa finally leaned forward, bringing her hand up to trace her fingers over his shoulder with a delicate touch, “Of course. As powerful as you are, I’m sure sure that losing _any_ human form would be little more than a minor inconvenience.”

A knowing, yet empty smile crossed the avatar’s lips as he leaned into Aversa’s touch. He kept his eyes closed as he brought his arm across his chest, tracing his fingers over the back of the Dark Flier’s hand. His caress was gentle, as he drew his fingers up her hand before slowly coiling his grip around her wrist. The white-haired young man turned his head, his dark eyes opening to take in the woman directly behind him. His lips still formed that hollow smile as he assessed her.

“That’s not untrue.” His voice was soft as he looked into Aversa’s eyes, “Still, I’d hope that my followers would endeavour to save me from all inconveniences, no matter how trifling.”

A cold bony hand curled around Aversa’s other wrist, yanking violently to pull the Dark Flier to her feet. Aversa gasped as the knife that she’d been hiding behind her back escaped her grasp clattering to the floor. She turned her gaze back to whoever had dared interfere with her plan only to see the blank expression of a Risen soldier. With her hands roughly pinned behind her back, she’d been helpless to hold up the soft towel that slid over dark skin to pool at her feet.

She furrowed her brow in confusion before turning her eyes back to the avatar as he looked back out to the silhouetted city before slowly rising to his feet. Her mind was filled with storm of questions and uncertainty. With as many Risen soldiers as she’d commanded, it would have been impossible to remember them all. Still, she was almost certain that the one that was keeping her pinned was one of the ones that had helped to free her. Now, when she tried to exert her will and force the undead creature away, there was no response. All she felt from the creature was it’s icy grip around her wrists.

Aversa’s mind raced as she tried to come up with an explanation to defend her actions, “I wasn’t-”

“-thinking straight? Clearly not.” The avatar’s voice was still hollow and empty, “Whatever your plan was, it seems to have unraveled somewhat.” When the avatar turned to face her, she’d expected to see anger, or at the very least, disappointment in his expression. Instead his black eyes shimmered with something that seemed like mild amusement.

Aversa flinched when his hand came up, expecting to find the brutal punishment befitting her treasonous plot. Instead of striking her, his palm had tenderly cupped her cheek with a gentle touch. She felt dizzy with confusion, grappled by a Risen soldier’s cold bony fingers while still caressed by the gentle touch of her god’s warm hand. The conflicting sensations left her lost somewhere between apprehension and anticipation, between a warm calm, and a chilling fear.

As long as she could remember, she’d always felt strong and powerful. The magics that had been etched into her skin making her body a living weapon. Her blood surged with arcane energies, her muscles were honed for battle. Somehow, in this moment, all of that fell away. She felt too small, too weak. The knowledge that with a snap of his fingers Grima could turn her into a red stain was not new to her. This was, perhaps, the first time that such truths had been so fully translated to fear.

The avatar spoke again in a soft and calm voice, “I’m not mad.” He continued to gently stroke his thumb over the girl’s cheek, “I admire your resolve.” Slowly he drew his hand down, letting his fingers slip over the edge of her jaw, lifting her chin slightly, “Not every ambition is meant to be fulfilled.” His palm shifted down to her throat, his slim fingers curling around her neck with a limp pressure, “It might be prudent to consider the dire consequences that your actions might bring upon yourself by acting so impulsively.”

A cold shiver ran down Aversa’s spine at the not-so-subtle threat. He wouldn’t even need magic to deal with her at this point. He could just tighten his grip, squeeze down on her windpipe, choke the life out of her. She whimpered, her breath seeming too short, like her lungs were afraid to draw air past the hand around her throat. The concept of living and dying by the whims of her god had never been so perfectly illustrated as in this moment.

Grima’s fingers slowly slipped loose from their hold on her throat, trailing down to her collarbone, “It is important to consider all of the consequences when you come up with a scheme.” His fingers slowly trailed down her skin, settling around her plump breast, “You were too eager, and it made you reckless. Now you must turn this failure into a lesson.”

Aversa bit back a soft gasp at the avatar’s warm touch on her sensitive skin. He was right. She had rushed into this, but the plan had seemed so perfect. She’d been so careful in concealing the knife from him. She’d checked for guards when she came in. It didn’t make any sense that he’d seen through her. Her bottom lip quivered as she let the whispered start of a question slip past her lips, “How…”

“Such a banal question…” His dark eyes followed the path that his fingers had taken, “There are truly so many possibilities for you to ponder.” When his eyes finally found the back of his hand, he let go of the Dark' Flier, taking a slow step back, “Perhaps, as your god, I am all knowing.”

Aversa suspected that was not the case. While the Fell Dragon was certainly powerful, he still sent out scouts, still gathered knowledge. It was possible, she supposed, that because she was a member of the Grimleal he could see her thoughts. It was also entirely possible that all of the training and magical manipulation she’d been through to be the next avatar had left her mind open to him. That couldn’t be right though. If he could read her mind then he’d never need her to make reports on her missions at all. Still, it was hard to shake the feeling of something picking at the back of her brain every time those black eyes looked at her.

“Maybe that army of Risen soldiers you command aren’t actually under your command at all.” The pale-skinned man shrugged, “Did you never consider the possibility that I was watching you through their eyes all this time?”

The Dark Flier turned her head quickly, looking at the cold and empty eyes of the lifeless monster behind her. She realized only now that in her arrogance, the thought that they were anything more than her mindless puppets hadn’t occurred to her. When she’d been granted a group of Risen, and the power to control them, she’d never questioned it. It had been a boon from her god. She had no reason to question it. Now that she thought about it, he could have been listening to her complain and plot this whole time. If she was surrounded by spies, this plan of a _surprise_ attack on the avatar had been a losing proposition from the start.

“Of course, there could be a still simpler answer.” The avatar looked up to the inky black sky. When Aversa dared to follow his gaze she found six glowing purple eyes staring down at her. The eyes, still glowing with a terrible dark power narrowed, their gaze piercing through the Plegian witch’s heart. The shadowy ‘curtain’ that served as a roof was not a curtain at all.

She felt her blood run cold and her breath catch in her throat. She was frozen, petrified under the watchful eye of her dark god. It was as if pins had been pushed through her body, holding her down in some grim display. She was acutely aware of the power of the fell dragon that hung above her, that he could erase her with a single breath. The avatar simply chuckled in response to her utter shock, “Perhaps your skills as an assassin are lacking, and you didn’t conceal your dagger as well as you had thought.”

The Risen soldier behind Aversa finally released her from its grasp. The dark-skinned woman collapsed under the weight of the terrible dragon’s gaze. She felt like she was being crushed by the pressure that was exuded from the fell dragon’s mere presence. It was only when the glowing eyes closed that the white-haired warrior discovered that she’d been unconsciously holding her breath.

“If that was the extent of your report, perhaps we should take this time to prepare the final steps for my ascension.” The avatar smiled softly as he gently patted the top of Aversa’s head, “Perhaps it will give you some time to come up with a better plan to take my majestic presence inside of your body.”

With those parting words, the avatar strode past the shivering form of Aversa, followed closely by the Risen soldier that had held her. The witch shuddered as her body shook in nervous laughter. How foolish she’d been to think that she could bear the weight of such a being. She’d been too proud of her magics and forgotten her place. She’d dared to disrespect her god, and rather than smite her, he’d dared her to try again. Tears burned at her eyes as she wailed into the sky, lamenting her weakness, and her failure.

oOoOo

The grey haze of the fog that had settled around the campsite seemed ate away at the first rays of the morning sun’s light. The moist air stole heat from the air that tugged at the fabric walls of the Shepards’ tents, leaving it cold and clammy. The aroma of the dying embers of the night’s campfires mixed with the crisp scent of dew covered grass and pine-needles. The thin blades of grass felt slightly slick under the feet of anyone who happened to be on the move so early.

Robin coughed, handfuls of grass caught in his tight grasp as his fingers dug into the earth. He gagged, the bitter taste of bile still fresh on his tongue. The dull pounding of his heart racing in his chest deafened him to the sounds of the morning. His head was spinning, his body doubled over in an uncomfortable crouch. One hand pressed into the grass below him to support him, while the other clutched tightly to a tent-spike as if it was all that kept him rooted to the earth. His stomach turned as his body attempted to expel the phantom poison of the anxiety that was clawed at the inside of his brain like a cat locked in a small box.

The nightmare that Robin’s mind had tortured him with in those last fleeting moment before he’d awoken had been too vivid, and unpleasant. Even after freeing himself from sleep, the phantoms of his dreams continued to haunt him. For a moment the cold sweat that had soaked his body felt like warm blood and the dryness of his mouth tasted like ash. For a panicked moment, his brain struggled with the thin veil between his nightmares and reality. Perhaps he’d been drowning under the weight of the fell dragon for all this time. Was this nothing but a fleeting gasp of air after clawing his way to the surface before he was plunged back into the depths?

His lungs burned from the pace of his shallow and ragged breaths. With his bearings still lost in the first moments of wakefulness, Robin had pulled himself out of bed. It had been at that moment that his empty stomach announced its intent to seek a deeper understanding of the concept of empty. With his palm pressed tightly over his mouth, the strategist attempted a hasty, and hopefully stealthy escape from his tent. He only made it a short distance from the tent before collapsing to the ground and beginning to retch.

This was not the first time that Robin’s body had fallen victim to the indomitable wall of anxiety and fear that plagued his every moment. He’d made great efforts to hide the level to which the weight of it all had affected him. The quest to not let other see the impact of his nightmares had made it a little easier to not focus on the nightmares themselves. Pouring himself further into the research had also helped to keep his mind otherwise occupied.

Unfortunately, while the research had been useful in maintaining his sanity, it had been producing less results as of late. In the beginning, Robin had found himself the target of more freshly researched warding spells than he could count. It had felt like every book they opened had another spell that might help even a little. They’d also gotten rather good at layering the wards more efficiently, experimenting with them every time they need to be reapplied.

In the recent days, finding new wards had become less frequent. The desperate nature of their search had made itself obvious when he’d suggested they put him into hibernation with curses until the danger had passed. It wasn’t a perfect plan but it had its merits. Tharja had been against it, but Robin had been willing to entertain anything that offered hope. He was even willing to turn to the divine, ingesting herbal teas that he’d learned about in a book about monks, and praying to Naga. It was difficult to measure the effectiveness of those methods, but they didn’t seem to have helped.

Robin spat a few times in an attempt to clear the lingering bitterness of bile from his mouth. With a shaky breath he bottled up the horrors of his nightmares in the back of his mind. If these really were his final days, he didn’t want them to be dominated by terror. Worry wouldn’t save him if everything that they did to prepare was ultimately for naught. He grit his teeth, trying to convince his addled mind to give him just a few moments of peace. He closed his eyes, letting the long shaky breath slip back out past his lips. He took a moment to imagine how much easier this would be if it was a problem he could just run from.

The strategist lifted his head, letting his eyes drift over the haze of the morning fog. He knew that even if it was possible to run away from the searching tendrils of Grima, he couldn’t. If he attempted to run away from the Research Camp, it would only be a matter of time before he was hunted down, and locked down or killed outright.

Severa and Owain had been left behind when Chrom’s army had marched off to deal with Walhart. The justification had been that they needed to recover from their wounds, but Robin knew better. They’d been part of Lucina’s team during her plan to kill him. They’d been left to make sure that he didn’t explore any ‘escape’ options. The fact that they’d gotten a bit scuffed up on the nightmare of Aversa’s escape was just a convenient excuse.

Brady’s continued service at the camp was possibly a move from the other side. Robin couldn’t imagine Lucina being excited to leave the man who’d helped him escape her plan behind as a their healer. It was possible that Lucina didn’t trust him to have her back after her plan had fallen apart.

Noire had also been left behind. Of his guards she was the most difficult to predict. Would she fire another arrow through him if he tried to run? Would she help him escape if he asked? She was balanced precariously between her desire not to kill him, and also to change the future. He doubted that even she knew which way she’d fall if she were pushed.

With Noire had left behind, Lucina had made the push to take Morgan with the assault team. Robin had wanted to argue against it, but Morgan was a skilled strategist, and Chrom’s army would need her. Knowing that the decision had been made so that Lucina could hold his daughter hostage didn’t mean he argue with such sound logic. He’d tried to find an excuse to keep her from leaving, but ultimately found himself helpless to stop it.

The other magic researcher had been Laurent. Robin knew that Laurent was part of Lucina’s plan to kill him, but was not concerned. Of the possible options, Laurent seemed the most interested in actually doing the research and finding the answers. The young mage from the future didn’t betray much with his facial expressions, but Robin had seen his eyes light up at the prospect of researching a way to stop a god.

The last notable member of the research camp had been the redheaded merchant and trickster. Anna had muttered something about moral high ground when she’d stayed behind to offer her services.She’d also muttered something about not wanting to lose her favourite customer. The strategist had just been happy for another friendly face.

Having Anna at the Research Camp was undeniably a valuable boon. The network of redheaded merchants had been able to gather an impressive collection of tomes and research materials for the mission. Whenever they felt like they had gone through every book about wards and protection magic, she’d produce another chest of tomes. When Robin had offered to pay the merchant for all the work she’d been doing, she’d refused and said they were just borrowing the books. She’d also asserted that it was worth it in the long run to keep his coins coming in.

Robin coughed again as he straightened up, looking toward the rising sun on the horizon. He knew that if he absolutely needed to run he could. If he gave Tharja permission to whisk him away somewhere, it would take exactly the kind of divine powers they were looking for to stop her. That was at the heart of why he knew that he couldn’t run. Knowing that Tharja would turn anything that stood in her way into a spray of gore put a damper on escape plans.

The problem was that Robin didn’t know if anything they’d done was helping. What if everything they’d done was for nothing? He had no options beyond to just keep his head down and hope. With so many conversations being about challenging fate, and re-writing destiny, it was a cosmic joke that all routes seemed to point to his doom. As a strategist this hopelessness was a hard pill to swallow.

The overwhelming pressure of his powerlessness had wormed its way into his every thought. It hung over him in every moment of the day. It would have been such a gift to forget about it for just a moment. It would be so nice to take a breath and not feel like he was drowning in it. He wanted to close his eyes for a moment without it seeping out from the darkest corners of his mind. Even an empty abyss seemed like the sweetest of dreams when compared to the nightmares that were constantly fighting for dominance of his sleep.

With a long breath of cool morning air, the strategist turned back to his tent. It was still too early to even attempt to start his day. He was going to need more rest before he was ready to tackle a day of research. He wasn’t even sure where he was going to start with that research to be honest. They’d taken everything useful that they could find in the materials that Anna had been able to supply them with.

Robin lifted the tent flap, stepping through the entryway of the tent into the darkness that was still cradled within. The thick walls of the tent stole the faint glow of morning, leaving the tent’s interior shrouded in deep shadows. The strategists closed his eyes, knowing that they’d be useless in navigating the darkness. He drew upon his memories, creating a map of the inside of the tent in his mind. His hope was to slip back into bed before his brief morning absence could be noted.

“It’s a little early to be slipping out of bed, don’t you think?” Tharja’s voice cut through the darkness, punctuating the truth that he’d failed to sneak back in.

Several warm lights flickered to life all at once on the ends of the candles that were scattered about the inside of the tent. The shadows suddenly retreated to the deep corners of the tent. The warm light danced over the form of Tharja, who was sitting at the head of the bed, with her bare shoulders and back pressed against the headboard. Her dark eyes flickered as she pulled the edge of the thin bedsheets that concealed her body up to cover her throat and the the bottom of her face as well.

The strategist swallowed weakly as his eyes trailed over the contours of the dark sorceress’s body. The way she was using the bedsheet to conceal herself would normally be titillating, but instead reminded him of the flashes of fearful expressions from his nightmares. Would she hide like that from him if all of their preparation turned out to be for naught? Would he be forced to watch helplessly as the monster that had claimed his body advanced on her?

Tharja’s eyebrows twitched downward, “Are you _afraid_?” She slowly drew the edge of the bedsheets away from her face, revealing a thin frown. Expressions of fear were all too familiar to the mistress of hexes. She’d never expected to see that terror hidden just behind Robin’s eyes, at least not directed towards her, “You’re afraid of me?”

Her mind raced over the many possibilities. Had their research into hexes and spells been too much? Had the strategists addled mind grasped upon their research, twisting her into some sort of mad scientist who experimented on him in his nightmares? The regular interactions of people sometimes escaped her. Perhaps she had put too much of the stress of this situation on him. It was possible that they’d spent too much time together these past days and she’d failed to hide the darkness of her soul from him.

Her mind raced over the events of the past several days, searching for what she might have done wrong, or what she could have done differently. Had allowing him to retreat so deeply into the research been a mistake? It wasn’t like she’d wanted to cut back on their more amorous activities. Perhaps she should have made stronger efforts into seducing him away from the research every now and then.

Robin winced slightly and slowly shook his head, “No, I’m…” He nervously dragged the pad of his thumb over the smooth surface of his brass wedding band. His stomach twisted at the thought that Tharja might internalize and twist his fears to be about her, “I’m afraid of losing you.” He tried not to think of the twisted visions of his nightmares.

Tharja’s expression softened, her tense posture relaxing slightly, “I love you” Her eyes flicked back up to his, “Also I’d never let you out of my sight long enough that you could possibly lose me.” She clutched the thin bedsheet that was wrapped around her frame to her chest.

“I…” Robin’s bottom lip quivered, “In my nightmares I hurt you.” He wrapped his left hand around his right wrist, squeezing tightly, “I…I don’t want to hurt you.”

The dark witch shifted her body, sliding her legs to the edge of the bed. Her naked feet pressed into the worn cobblestone that Robin’s tent had been erected upon. The thin bedsheet hung from her body as she lifted herself from the bed and slowly moved towards him. Robin’s body shuddered, as he fought an instinct that warned him that she might be in danger if she got too close to him. Before he had a chance to move, she had closed the distance, leaning into hm, and dipping her head down to rest against his chest.Before he knew it, Robin instinctively wrapped an arm around Tharja’s body, holding her close to him, and making the sorceress purr softly.

With his heartbeat pounding hard against her ear the witch spoke up softly, “I am not some fragile flower.” She closed her eyes, “Come back to bed.” She urged him forward with her grip, slowly leading him back towards the bed that she had left behind to embrace him.

Robin bits his bottom lip again, knowing that the nightmares were waiting for their chance to claim him when he closed his eyes, “I don’t think I can sleep. I don’t want to dream of hurting you again…”

“You need to relax.” The witch let the words slip past her lips as she slowly swayed in a slow dance with the strategist, “The constant stress is poisoning your mind.” She’d heard him whimper in his sleep. It had been impossible not to notice when he slipped out of the tent in the morning, thinking he was being so clever in his attempts to hide his reactions to his nightmares. Of course she’d noticed. She noticed everything about him.

“We don’t have time to relax.” Robin shivered softly as he felt the edge of the bed against the back of his legs. He was dreading closing his eyes again. He didn’t want to be plunged back into the world where he was sinking into the black mud made of ashes and blood. He bit his bottom lip, “We just…We don’t have time.”

Tharja pressed her lips against Robin’s collar for a moment before tracing a quick pattern against the strategist’s chest. There was a bolt of force and suddenly the strategist found his back against the bed, twisted bands of magical force coiled around his wrists. The sorceress held the thin sheet to her chest with one hand, her dark eyes sizing up the strategist. The dark magic that had seized Robin’s wrists held them tight to the headboard above his head, leaving him feeling utterly helpless under her gaze.

“What-!” Robin started, struggling slightly against the magical bonds in an attempt to reclaim his freedom.

The dark witch let the thin bedsheet slide down her naked body as she looked down at Robin, “Lay down.” There was a darkness to her voice that made it clear that the words had not been a request.

Robin pulled against the magical bonds around his wrists, finding that he was still powerless to free himself from them. He looked up to the shadowy tendrils of darkness that had coiled around him before looking back to the sorceress. The way that her dark eyes seemed to glow and crackle with magical energy was enough to take his breath away. Her frightening and terrible aura was palpable. The way that the threatening danger mixed with the allure of the sight of his naked wife was drawing up a lot of feelings for the strategist.

The strategist opened his mouth. What were they going to do if his body was stolen by Grima? What if they didn’t stop him? Would he hurt her? Would she be able to stop him when he had all of the power of the fell dragon coursing through his body? He wanted to warn her. He needed her to understand why he was so afraid of all of this. She should have been just as terrified as he was. Of course he was afraid that he might hurt her! How was she not as terrified as he was?

“Burning the candle at both ends will just mean that there is less of you left to save.” Tharja’s eyes burned like hot coals as she looked up to Robin’s eyes, “Stop struggling.” Her lithe fingers slid up to cup his manly bulge through the front of his pants, “Take this as a lesson in relaxing.”

Robin groaned, wincing slightly as he tried to glare at the dark witch, “How am I supposed to relax -nghnn- when I can’t even move?”

Tharja leaned down, brushing her lips against his cheek briefly before gently nipping at his earlobe, “Wasn’t your struggle that you were concerned you might hurt me?” She drew her face back, the light in her eyes flickering as she looked into his, “I know we sometimes play like I am a helpless maiden. Perhaps now you’re starting to see how far that is from the truth.”

Robin gasped softly as Tharja continued to torture him with light teasing touches. Her slim fingers traced up slowly, stopping to toy with the ties at the front of his pants. The slow movement of her fingertips to release the knots was a painful reminder of how little intimate contact they’d had since beginning their research. His body eagerly bent to her wishes, desperate for the promised reward of even more contact.

When the witch’s fingers slipped beneath the thin material of Robin’s night-pants, the grandmaster let out a sharp gasp. Her fingers were cool from the mid-morning air, a harsh contrast to the burning heat of his loins. He shuddered as he felt her fingers coil around his girth, before moving into a slow rhythm of gentle pumps. Her free hand snaked up, tracing her fingertips over his cheek and keeping him from averting his gaze from her face. She licked her lips slowly as she continued to let the warmth of his length sink into the skin of her palm.

“Ngnn…” Robin let out a weak moan, his body still quivering under Tharja’s skilled touch.

Tharja smirked, pulling her hand away from Robin’s face to brush her silky raven hair behind her ear, “Mmmm…Your moans are so sweet.” She rewarded him by speeding up her movements, tightening her grip slightly around his manhood.

The grandmaster’s eyes closed as he let out a low groan. His body involuntarily shifted more into Tharja’s movements. His hips rocked softly to keep time with Tharja’s pumping fingers. He turned his head to the side, hoping that this new angle might give him some advantage against the waves of pleasure. The witch took advantage of this by shifting her weight downward and sealing her lips against the side of his exposed throat. Robin answered this new attack with a low moan as his body relaxed into the bed and his wrists stopped fighting the magical bonds.

Tharja smile softly pumping her hand a few more times, her lips forming a devious smile against his neck. She released him from her grasp, pulling her hand free in a way that further unlaced his trousers. Robin gasped as the warmth of Tharja’s palm was replaced by the crisp coolness of the morning air. Robin shifted uncomfortably as Tharja pushed herself up and off of Robin’s body.

The strategist let out a low groan as the pleasant warmth of his wife retreated from him. He flexed, weakly testing the magical bonds that still held strong to his wrists. He whimpered softly, noticing only now that his breathing had begun to speed as a result of Tharja’s teasing. He silently cursed that the bindings held so firm, keeping him from gasping the curves of the dark witch and taking back control of the situation.

With a wicked smile on her lips, Tharja slowly drew her hand up to her mouth. With a calculated slowness, she drew a long lick over the palm of the hand that had been wrapped around his hardness. She chuckled softly as the tip of her slender index finger finally came to rest on her bottom lip, “Perhaps that’s enough.” She tapped her fingertip against her bottom lip in a tantalizingly slow rhythm, “After all, if I don’t get back to my very important work, you might go on a rampage and hurt me.”

The lesson of his powerlessness against the witch had been made painfully clear to Robin. He wasn’t sure that he agreed with her. There was no telling what would happen if and when his body was seized by the fell dragon. With it’s near divine power coursing through his body, it was likely that he’d have the power to break these bonds and dispatch Tharja in an instant. It wasn’t certain though. In fact, the only thing that was certain about any of this was that, in his current state, Robin was no match against Tharja’s level of magic. He was also starting to get the message that it had been too long since he had last been intimate with his wife.

Robin’s eyes snapped open when he felt Tharja shift her weight off of him. He looked down to see the witch sliding down over the bottom edge of the bed, her eyes locking with his as she retreated from him. He pulled weakly against the magical bindings, wishing that he had the strength to free himself and pull her back to him again. The memories of his nightmares were all but forgotten. The quest to find a protection against Grima seemed so much less important now.

“You can’t.” He blurted the words out before he’d had time to process them, but making the simple declaration had been enough to give pause to Tharja’s retreat. She was still hunched over the foot of the bed, her fingers digging into the plush mattress on either side of his knees. Her expression was somewhere between surprise and annoyance at the way that he’d stopped her, so he decided to keep speaking rather than give her time to further think on the topic, “We’ve already gone through all of the books we have.”

Tharja let a slow breath out through her nose, her eyes watching the changes in Robin’s expression closely, “I suppose I’ll have to check with Anna to see if she has any new materials for us.”

Robin bit his bottom lip and shook his head violently, his mind racing for strategic solutions to this situation, “I’d be helpless if someone came in to hurt me.” He made a weak attempt at breaking the magical bonds again to illustrate his point.

The witch slowly leaned forward, her palms sliding up the mattress as she sank closer to him, “So you’d have me release you?” Her eyes flicked down to Robin’s twitching staff for a moment. She found herself playfully blowing against it, enjoying how it twitched and shuddered under her attention, “How would I protect myself from you?”

It was difficult for the strategist to not imagine the many ways that he would take advantage of her if she were to release his bonds. He pushed away the thoughts of sliding his fingers through her silky raven hair and pushing her head forward. Tharja was teaching him a lesson about how she was stronger than he thought she was. Admitting how little time it would take for him to take advantage of being freed wasn’t going to convince her. Worse, telling her how much she was driving him mad would only serve to push the balance of power more in her direction. Giving her new angles to torture him from wasn’t going to serve him well.

“No answer?” Tharja shifted her weight slightly, shifting a little back down the length of the bed, “If you’re so strong, I’m sure you can take care of yourself.”

Robin flexed against the bonds on his wrists again, “You win. I surrender.”

Tharja raised an eyebrow before relaxing back onto the mattress again, “Oh?” A soft smirk spread across her lips as she slowly walked her fingertips up the side of his leg, “How did you imagine that playing out?”

The strategist closed his eyes letting out a long breath, “I don’t know. I’m helpless against you.” He slowly opened his eyes to look down at her, “Not just physically, but emotionally.” He relaxed more completely, “All I want is to keep you with me.”

The witch’s smile softened at Robin’s confession, “I see.” Her fingertips slipped further up his thigh, dancing close to the base of his length, “If I’m going to stay here, I’ll have to find a way to amuse myself.”

A low moan slipped past Robin’s lips as he watched the dark witch dip her head forward to place a loving kiss against the tip of his erection. A wicked smile spread across the witch’s lips before they parted to grant access to the sensitive head of Robin’s shaft. Her eyes, smouldering with lust, watched Robin’s expression contort under waves of pleasure for a moment before closing. She moaned softly against Robin’s tip, savouring his taste by brushing her tongue against his sensitive flesh.

“Nnnghn!” A choked moan escaped Robin’s lips as he watched the sorceress seal her lips around his member. He balled his fingers into tight fists as the witch slowly leaned forward, drawing more of his throbbing length into the warm depths of her mouth.

Tharja sucked eagerly as she slowly drew her head back. Her lips leaving his length with a lewd pop, “Having you powerless is certainly delicious." She placed another quick kiss at the tip, letting out a gentle chuckle as she watched him squirm.

The thought that Tharja could draw out this teasing torture of hers indefinitely was threatening to become fact. The strategist let out a low moan as Tharja’s lips parted to accept the bulbous tip of his shaft into the warm sanctuary of her mouth once more. She hummed against him again, enjoying their duet of her humming and his moans. Without even thinking about it, the strategist dug his heels into the bed, thrusting his hips forward slightly in search of more of the pleasurable warmth. Tharja’s eyes went wide in surprise for a moment before closing again as she slowly drew her head back, her lips slipping from Robin’s length.

“Bad boy.” Tharja whispered as she slowly crawled up Robin’s body, “I thought you’d learned your lesson. I might have let you go if you’d been patient.” She smirked as she straddled him, holding her body up with her arms and legs on either side of his body.

Robin closed his eyes and took a shaky breath trying to steady his nerves and reset himself, “You were just exercising so much self-restraint I forgot that I was the one who was tied up.”

The raven-haired witch quirked an eyebrow at her lover’s barb, “Oh?” Her expression was one of mild amusement at the fact that Robin was still able to play the game.

“How many restless nights did you lie awake fantasizing of having me in just this position?” He slowly opened his eyes, attempting to put on his most confident face, “Did you really find release at the thought of merely teasing me?”

Tharja’s lips twitched for a moment as her mind returned to the trashing sweaty nights when her only comfort had been fantasy. She still recalled the taste of her own desperation, when all that had kept those fantasies from becoming plans was her self-restraint and her busy fingers. She could recall the bitterness, when even in her wildest fantasies, the darkness in her heart still made him call out another woman’s name. The fear was irrational, she knew that, but deep down she still feared that if she gave in to those fantasies now, they might somehow play out the same. She bit her bottom lip, pushed herself up into an upright position, and looked down at the man who lay bound below her.

In the past week, their lack of physical contact had left the door open to the horrible dark whispers. If she let him fall out of the habit, would he still long to hold her? Now that they no longer found themselves in the throes of passion, would he finally see that se was nothing more than a witch, unworthy of his affection? She’d made little attempts to seduce him into action, hoping to keep him blinded by desire. No amount of bending over piles of books, or brushing her breasts against his shoulder had spurred him into action.

The longer she’d been forced to contemplate it, the more she’d realized that her mind was a mire of dark thoughts. What if he was only with her because Noire and Morgan existed? She’d convinced herself that keeping track of her cycles to avoid pregnancy had been a tactical decision, but had it? Was she subconsciously doing it because she somehow thought that as long as she wasn’t pregnant with this child from the future, it meant Robin had to stay with her? More recently had it become about making sure that Grima couldn’t steal him from her because it would cause some strange paradox? The logical part of her brain knew that paradoxes had no place in time travel that allowed her to meet her children from the future.

“Things change.” The witch muttered as she shifted her weight to place her palms on his chest, searching for his heartbeat through the thin material of his shirt, “How many nights did you lie awake in terror that the frightening Plegian defector might sneak into your tent and have you in exactly this position?”

Robin flexed against the magic that kept his wrists bound again, “I always imagined I’d have broken free and be fucking you over the desk by now.”

Tharja gasped when her legs went a little weak, causing her body to sink low enough that Robin’s proud member poked against her sex. She bit her bottom lip again, tightening her grip on his shirt, “Don’t lie.”

The strategist shuddered softly from the feeling of Tharja’s body briefly making contact with his own, “If this spell wasn’t so strong, you’d know how honest I’m being.”

The witch looked longingly to the desk for a moment, quietly considering letting her spell slip just a little. She shook her head, knowing that was just falling into the same pattern again. If she didn’t find a way to silence her darkness once and for all it would be with her forever. If she kept trying to bury her twisted fears like that, she’d never be able to get over them. Her spell had clearly proven that Robin couldn’t physically hurt her, but she was still a raw nerve emotionally. Actions weren’t going to be enough for that, and so she found herself asking the question that she’d been dreading all this time.

“Why?”

Robin furrowed his brow for a moment, “What?”

Tharja took a long and shaking breath in a failed attempt to calm herself, “Why me? Why am I special? Why not someone else? Why am I the one you’re most worried about hurting?” Her voice cracked just a little bit, her hands shaking under the strain of her own worries, “Just…why?”

The white-haired strategist felt his body go weak under the weight of such a question, “I…” He searched his memories for any indication that Tharja might have given him that she’d been thinking about this. He knew better than to think that the simple answer of ‘because I love you’ would be satisfactory for the trembling witch. It might have been enough to end the discussion, but it was too simple to resolve the underlying problem.

“At first it was all of the physical things, and the fact that you’re mysterious and a little dangerous. Very sexy qualities.” He spoke softly as he looked over to the desk, suddenly too embarrassed to look her in the eyes, “You knew what you wanted and had the confidence to reach out for it no matter what.” He smiled softly, “You have a blazing wit that keeps me on my toes and an utter mastery of your craft.” He felt a warmth in his cheeks, “You also have a kindness that you try too hard to conceal, and are awkward around other people in a way that makes me want to protect you.” He closed his eyes, “The way you treat me special makes me feel special.”

“Stop.” The weak whisper of a word had stopped Robin’s voice dead in his throat, “M-My heart…It can’t take anymore.” He turned his head quickly to look up at the witch, who’s shoulders were shaking slightly, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Did I-?” Robin’s question was caught off by a grunt when Tharja slowly lowered her hips, sliding his length between the quivering walls of her sex.

Tharja shuddered as she was filled by her lover. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back with a low moan. As her movement came to a close, she tightened her grip on the front of Robin’s shirt, “You’re mine.” She slowly brought her head forward again, her eyes glowing with a mix of powerful emotions, “I won’t let you be stolen. Your body, your soul, your love, they all belong to me.”

Robin groaned as the witch slowly began to grind her hips against him. She slowly lifted her hips, whimpering at the brief sensation of emptiness. Her slick walls clutched him as if trying to keep him from escaping from her depths. Just as he was about to slip from the slick warmth of her sex, the witch rocked her hips forward, piercing herself once more on his rigid length.

“Anh!” Tharja let out a gasp of a moan at the sudden jolt of pleasure.

Robin groaned softly, the sensation of the witch’s tightness around him threatening to drive him mad. The sounds of her moans form a beautiful melody in his ears as she rocked her hips against his. Her nails bit into his skin through the thin material of his shirt. He flexed, making small thrusts to meet Tharja’s movements.

The witch’s vision flashed white for a moment when Robin began to thrust against her. Her breath caught in her throat at the feeling of him pushing to her very depths. Her body shook as she clamped tighter around the very welcome invader. Jolts of electrical pleasure shot up her spine and her lips parted in dark moans as she rocked against Robin in a wild and passionate desperation.

“Ooooh…” Tharja let her head slump forward, her eyes glowing with passionate lust as she locked her gaze with Robin’s, “Robin…” His name escaped her lips in something between a gasp and a moan. Her arms struggled to hold her up against the waves of pleasure that were assaulting every nerve in her body.

The warmth radiated out from where they were joined, waves of pleasure washing over his body, “Tharja…”

Lightning flashes of pleasure shot through Tharja’s body, causing her to almost collapse onto her lover. The tight folds of her pussy shuddered and squeezed under the force of her orgasm. It was difficult to tell if it had been drawn out more by his desperate half thrusts that met her own, or the sweet sound of her name on his lips. All she knew for certain was that she’d become momentarily lost in the passionate duet of their duelling moans. She was claimed by a fiery need in her core that could only be quenched by her lover’s release.

It was a release that Robin knew could not be held off for very long. Between the confident motions of her hand and skilled efforts of her mouth, he’d been all but set to burst the moment he was inside of her. It had been a mental struggle to hold off as long as he had. It was a battle that his body was all too eager to lose.

The sight of Tharja’s body was almost too much by itself. He wanted to memorize the way she bounced as she thrust herself against him. Her supple breasts jiggled as the shock of each thrust rocked through her body. Beads of sweat rolled down her skin as the muscles in her throat contracted and relaxed in time with her wonton moans. Even without the intensity of the other sensations, just the vision of her so lost in passion was nearly erotic enough to push him to the brink.

His cock twitched as it all finally became too much for him to bear, “Ugnh- Tharja!” Her name escaped his lips in a low moan as he erupted deep inside of her. The sudden sensation of his hot seed being unleashed into her deepest parts was enough to pull the witch over the edge with him. Once again her body went painfully tense as her innermost muscles squeezed at his cock, desperate to milk it for every last drop of his precious essence.

As the last waves of their shared end washed over the two lovers, the raven-haired witch collapsed onto her exhausted partner. Their chests heaved under the strain of recovering from their union. The witch closed her eyes, revelling in the sensation of his warm release still churning inside of her. She placed her palm to her stomach, attempting to etch the warm feeling into her memory. She thought back to all of the times she’d called upon a hex to take his seed from taking hold as if doing so would hold back the future. This time she just let herself bask in the warm feeling as it spread throughout her body.

Basking in the warmth of each other’s embrace, the lovers drifted into a well-deserved sleep, perhaps having found a prescription to combat the strategist’s nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha. There's no way this chapter will have been worth the six month wait.
> 
> Also, because I've been working on it for six months, I am expecting that parts of it are probably a horrible mess. If you find anything that is wrong, make sure to tell me so I can fix it. I did a once-over, but it being 2020 I'm exhausted all of the time, so I'm sure I missed something somewhere.
> 
> Did I somehow get worse at writing sex-scenes? Will Tarja and Robin discover a magical power to protect themselves from the evil Grima? How will Grima's diabolical plan unfold? Is this the part of my plot outline where I've just drawn a bunch of question marks because I'm not sure how I get to where I know the ending is? Can Aversa find a super sexy and exciting way of _taking Grima's majestic form inside her body_? What is it about the year 2020 that made it so hard for me to write another chapter in my story about anxious people worrying about a force that they don't understand invading someone's body and killing everyone? Will it take me another 6 months to write the next chapter? Tune in next time! Same bat-time! Same bat-channel!


	8. A Hex Called Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dark cloud of Grima hangs low in the horizon. Can our heroes prepare themselves for the final battle? What sacrifices will they make to save themselves from their terrible fate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon. You didn't think I'd forget to get all of you a Valentines Day present did you?
> 
> That joke is funnier when you know that I intended for this to be up for Christmas.

A haze of soot and dust hung in the air between the broken ruins of what had once been buildings. The walls themselves stood decorated with thick black scorch marks and splashes of drying blood. On occasional intervals a startled scream would echo through the ruined town, only to be snuffed out moments later. The twisted shadows of the shambling Risen soldiers slunk through the village, their glowing eyes on the hunt for any remaining survivors.

Grima flexed the fingers of his right hand, frowning at the tension that lingered in his joints and fought the movement. Obliterating the small village of dissenters at the edge of Plegian territory was to serve as a stress reliever for the fell dragon. It had been meant to be a metric that he could use to measure his current strength. Unfortunately, it was difficult to compare a malnourished band of rag-tag rebels against an organization like the Ylissean military. Worse, was the taxing cost that the battle had taken on his body.

Being a little bit sluggish during the battle had met his expectations. It hardly mattered that he was slow as long as he could tap into his great and terrible power. In fact, his ability to destroy the town as he flew above it had matched his imagination perfectly. The problem had come in from the human form that he used as his avatar. It was slower than he remembered, and was proving more taxing to move. He had wanted to write it off as muscle atrophy from spending too long at rest, but he knew that theory to be false.

It was only after the fighting had come to its conclusion that the avatar of the fell dragon had made the discovery. A razor-thin crack had spread across the back of the offending right hand. It wasn’t the kind of crack associated with dried out skin. It was more similar to the fine cracks one might find on a porcelain teacup. While the discovery was very new, what it meant was hardly a mystery. Just as was the case with the teacup, the cracks would spread, and the material around them would continue to slowly fleck away. It was the sign that this vessel was failing him.

When had this started? The avatar winced, bringing his hand to the side of his head to combat the wooziness of a flood of images. Unlike the cracked hand, this mental stress was not entirely new. It had been plaguing him since waking from his long slumber. It was possible that it had actually been a problem for longer than that.

In the hazy moments after his awakening, he’d wanted to brush it all off as the lingering memories of his dreams. It made sense that having spent all of that time asleep, his dreams were about his victory. The more time passed, the more he knew that it was more than that. If it had just been a fleeting dream, why did he recognize so many of the players in his life? He’d never subscribed to the belief in prophecy that these mortals followed with an almost religious zeal. There had to be more to it than that.

If it had been prophecy, then he should have been able to follow the plan that he’d seen and arrive at that glorious victory. It wasn’t possible to blame all of the barriers that had risen in opposition to his plan on the fact he’d grown impatient and moved too quickly. Some things could be explained by that, but the appearance of the blue haired heiress could not. The moment he heard that she had appeared on the battlefield, the truth of his memories, and of everything else became painfully clear.

The heiress, as well as several other leading members of the Shepards, had come back from the future. At the moment of his victory, they had hatched a plan to rewrite a history that had already been written. Their plan was to stop his victory before it could ever start. A wild gambit. In response he had followed them, which explained why his avatar appeared to be part of a pair. It also explained the nagging impatient voice in the back of his mind that had caused him to start down his path early.

With that variable finally filled in, everything made sense. He understood why he knew the faces of his enemies. The fervour behind their struggle against his inevitable and glorious victory. Having two timelines overlapping in his own head also explained his headaches, and the difficult flood of information. It all came down to a group of foolish and desperate humans playing with forces that were beyond their understanding.

The images had always seemed too real to be mere dreams. He could still feel the blood between his fingers. He could still see the hurt in the Ylissean king’s eyes as the light in them flickered out. Opening the strategist’s eyes to see Chrom’s unprotected back, waiting for the knife had almost been too sweet. With the deed done, he’d turned to the balcony to watch his army of Risen claw their way up from the ground, adding some of the freshly fallen to their ranks. He was on top of the world, and nothing could stand against him.

Then he’d been attacked that dark sorceress. She was some sort of Plegian defector or something, he could hardly remember now. She run forward with tears staining her cheeks and arcane energy crackling in her hands. These humans were always so slow to accept their losses. He had to admit, the audacity of a mere human to launch an attack on him in his moment of victory had offered a moment of surprise. When he was feeling generous he even called it admirable. Of course, the raven-haired woman was still just a human.

The fire that had been behind her eyes was what he remembered most. He didn’t even know her name, but he could feel the hate coming off of her. Even when he buried his knife in her ribs, she’d still had that defiant glare on her face. She’d shown some true bravery in her last moments, and that was worth noting. Somehow she’d even managed to keep her composure as she let her weight fall against the wall. With her lips stained by her own blood, she’d spat her last breaths at him, promising that he’d never be able to keep the body that he’d stolen.

Thinking about it now, he’d heard somewhere that a curse uttered with a caster’s last breath was somehow stronger. The idea that his failing vessel was courtesy of some strange woman he’d killed in an alternate future seemed like a stretch. It seemed more likely that Aversa, who had already expressed her interest, had pulled together some traitorous sect to do this to him. It was also entirely possible that his current predicament had to do with the time travel, or even that there were two of the same body in the same time. As far as he knew, it was a little bit of everything and this body was dying a death of a thousand cuts.

He let out a long breath and flexed the damaged hand again. Regardless of the root cause, the symptoms were manageable for now. In the event that this vessel did fail him. What was important in the moment was projecting strength. He had enough strength to crush these rebels today, and he had enough strength to squash the irritant that was the Shepards. Even with this mild inconvenience, the Shepards were divided and weary from their battle with Walhart. Now was the opportune time to press that advantage and end this once and for all.

A dark silhouette descended from the sky, landing on the dusty street before him. The black pegasus flapped its wings a few times as it shifted its weight, eager to return to the sky. The dark-skinned rider cast her gaze over the ruined buildings for a moment, stopping when her dark eyes had settled on the avatar. She failed to conceal the quick movement of licking her lips as she took in the way his form still oozed magical energy.

“The Risen are cleaning up the last of the villagers.” Aversa shifted her hips, sliding off of her winged mount with a liquid grace, “Soon everyone will know the price of plotting against you.”

A warm chuckle slipped past the avatar’s lips, the thought that Aversa was plotting against him still fresh in his mind, “The dead always do seem so much more agreeable. Corpses haven’t betrayed me yet.”

Aversa quickly lowered herself to one knee, bowing her head to the ground. The subtle threat to Grima’s words had not gone unnoticed by the dark flier. Things had been, to say the least, tense between them since her attempt to attack him in the bathhouse. She’d thought that she’d been doing a good job of keeping her head down, but clearly he had neither forgotten, nor forgiven the trespass. She could still not be certain if inviting her to continue to plot against him had been a challenge or a test. After witnessing what he’d unleashed on this town, she was not eager to discover the answer.

With a roll of his eyes, the avatar made a weak waving motion towards the woman before him, “I’ve grown weary of looking down. You may rise.” In other circumstances he may have found Aversa’s play at being subservient to be endearing. With everything that he was dealing with in this moment, it was a formality that he could do without.

The white-haired woman raised her head, blinking in confusion for a moment. Deciding that this was not a test, she drew herself up into a brief bow before standing before the avatar. Her mild fear and confusion still shone through the cracks in the mask of the expression she wore to hide them. It seemed unlikely that he would strike her down now, when he hadn’t immediately after her attempted betrayal. On the other hand, he may have decided that she hadn’t done enough to eradicate these rebels. It was possible that was somehow the larger offence. It was impossible to know how the mind of a god worked.

A bored sigh slipped past the lips of the avatar, “Surely there was more you wished to say.”

Aversa shook herself back into the present, bowing her head, “Yes, lord Grima.” She crossed her arm over her chest, continuing to stare into the ground at her feet, “Our troops have made quick work of these heretics, unfit to bask in your grace. If you wish it, I could have someone compile a list of any other nearby villages that have proven themselves unworthy of your love.”

The avatar eyed Aversa closely. It seemed that she was looking for more opportunities for combat. It was difficult to tell if she meant to loose her frustration over her failed plan, or if she was seeking a way to put herself back into his good graces. He’d already made his decision for his next step, but it seemed a waste not to give her a direction for all of that energy. He was sure that it would also prove enjoyable to watch her on the battlefield with his own eyes.

“I’m sure you could, but no. Have Validar prepare the troops to march. I have a different target in mind.” The avatar’s lips curled into a sinister smile, “Our people will learn to fall in line much faster once I’ve made an example of those troublesome Shepards.”

Tracking the Shepard’s strategist would hardly prove a challenge. Perhaps it was because of the way that the boy had been marked by him, but Grima almost felt a magnetic pull towards him. All he needed to do was follow it like a compass and he’d find the strategist, and his war-weary friends. In a single battle he could seize control of his new body and wipe the rest of the pieces that opposed him from the game-board. Even without some plan from the future, the path to his victory was as clear as day.

oOoOo

The sun felt warm on Robin’s skin. The gentle breeze carried with it the scent of flowers, grass, and a faint touch of the sea. The stone slab that he was laying on felt smooth and warm. It likely wouldn’t have been his first choice for a location to take a nap, but it was comfortable as far as stone slabs went. The strategist slowly brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the light of the sun as he opened them. A large fluffy cloud hung in the ocean of blue that was the sky. His eyes followed its lackadaisical march as the light breeze urged it onward.

Robin narrowed his eyes slightly as he took in the sky. This certainly had not been where he’d been when he’d gone to sleep.

Slowly pushing himself into a seated position, the strategist turned his head to take in the scenery. It wasn’t unfamiliar to him. This was the shrine where the Shepards had defended Tiki while she connected with her goddess. There were considerably less horrific Risen monsters than how he remembered it. While that was a clear improvement, it did little to stop his mind from racing for answers as to why he was here now.

His eyes stopped scanning the scenery, landing on the green haired woman who stood by a piece of the ruined building. The woman looked like Tiki, but also not like Tiki in a way that Robin wasn’t quite able to put his finger on. Just based on her looks he supposed she could have been any Manakete that he might have met. He knew better. The moment that he’d laid eyes upon her, he’d known who she was. It felt like pieces of a puzzle that he hadn’t known he’d been looking at had put themselves together before his eyes.

He tried to give voice to the questions that he felt boiling on his tongue, “You’re Naga.” It came out more as a statement. He supposed the fact that the questioning tone had gotten lost before the words crossed his lips was the answer he was looking for.

The goddess said nothing for a long moment. Her eyes seemed to peer too deep at the strategist to just be seeing him. He felt like he was being weighed and measured under her gaze. While he didn’t find it wholly uncomfortable, it was not the warmth he’d expected to feel from the eyes of the god.

Sliding off of the stone slab, the strategist considered what this might mean, “Why have you come now?” He was finding comfort that if this was the answer to his prayers, it had taken the goddess at least a little time to find an answer as well.

“A dark shadow approaches, bringing the terrible crossroads of fate with it.” Her voice had a certain melodic quality to it, while still maintaining the stoic detachment he’d expected of a deity, “You will be called upon to make a choice that changes the world forever.”

Robin narrowed his eyes slightly. With Grima just over the horizon, it was safe to say that every choice was a grand bend in the river of fate. Even when measured by the strange dream-state, saying that he stood at the precipice of a monumental decision was vague and unhelpful. He’d prayed for answers on how to keep the end from coming, not a lecture that he needed to be careful. He could feel the frustration that had built up from days of searching for a solution threatening to boil over. Still, it was a god that stood before him. He exercised patience as best as he could.

“I see you and the Ylissean royal in the final battle with the dragon. Should Chrom deliver the finishing blow, Grima will be returned to his slumber, defeated but not destroyed.” Naga’s piercing green eyes seemed to burrow even deeper into Robin’s soul with her next words, “However, as a child marked by the dragon, you have a rare opportunity.”

Robin felt a dull throb in the back of his hand. When he raised it to look at it, he could see the dull brand of the Grimleal glowing with a faint light there. He quickly covered the pulsing mark with his other hand. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid the symbol might offend the god before him, or if it had been a subconscious action to try and soothe the ache. In either case, he felt a little foolish given that she’d been the one to bring attention to it.

The goddess continued, “If you are the one to deliver the final blow, Grima can be destroyed.” A more solemn expression graced her features as she spoke, “This victory would come at a cost. While Grima would never again be a threat, you would not survive your victory to see the world you’ve saved.”

A handful of calculations flooded the strategist’s mind. At the moment, he wanted to believe that he’d be able to go through with it without any hesitation. He couldn’t discount the possibility that when it came time to deliver that final blow he’d hesitate knowing what he knew now. He found himself biting the tip of his thumb, a habit that he’d picked up from his wife some time ago. The action reminded him that if he told Tharja about any of this he knew exactly what her choice would be.

None of this was really the answer to the question that he’d asked the goddess. At the same time, the fact that she’d looked into the future and seen this final battle with the black dragon was the answer. Clearly something they had done had worked, or there would never be a final battle between him and the fell dragon. If what she was saying was truth, it meant that he was at least going to avoid having his body stolen until the battle.

Robin gnawed at the edge of his thumbnail as he eyed the goddess before him, “I’m sure you’re very confident in your prophetic abilities, but what if…”

She closed her eyes, nodding her head slightly, “The future that awaits should you fail to defeat the fell dragon is…an unpleasant outcome.” The goddess turned her head to gaze towards the horizon, “I’m sure that the children that have journeyed back from the future could offer you clear insight into that possibility.”

Of course it was a do or die situation. It wouldn’t be a final battle with the fell dragon if there was a way to not win and still have a world with living in. Luckily, the weight of the final battle took his mind off of the horrible final choice. Given the colossal nature of the final battle, he couldn’t be sure he was ever going to have to make that final decision. They were fighting the fell dragon. It’d be a miracle if he survived long enough that he had to decide who delivered the final blow.

He needed time to prepare, to plan. The fell dragon would surely bring the full might of an army of risen down on them. Ideally, he’d be able to offer Chrom and rest of the main force time to relax, but they weren’t going to have time. They’d need to run special drills. He’d need to somehow convince them to run special drills. He wasn’t even sure how he was going to convince them that he was still him. This whole situation was a mess.

With a long, drawn-out breath, the strategist turned his eyes towards the horizon, just as the goddess had done. Perhaps it was just a metaphor created by this strange dream state, but he could see the dark storm clouds on the horizon. They hung low in the sky, as if using the trees in the distance to hide themselves. They were moving in fast, and wouldn’t be hidden for very long. The breeze had suddenly picked up and turned cold, an ill omen of what was headed their way.

Robin closed his eyes and let his arms fall to his sides, “You aren’t telling me about something coming in weeks or months, are you?”

The voice of the goddess took on a more somber tone, “No.”

The strategist grit his teeth for a moment. It seemed a sour exaggeration to call whatever Naga was exhibiting the power of prophecy. He felt the kind warmth of the sun vanish as it was swallowed by the black storm clouds. Predicting a thing is going to happen as it happens is hardly prediction at all. The wind grew wild, whipping his robes around him as he stood against it. How was he supposed to prepare himself for something that was already on top of him?

When the strategist opened his eyes, he was looking up at swaying fabric of his tent. The visions granted to him by the visitor to his dreams were still fresh in his mind. He could still feel the cold deep in his bones. He pushed himself into a seated position disturbing the witch beside him and causing her to stir from her slumber. The strategist brought his palm to his face, noticing only then that his heart was racing and his skin was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. It paired well with the heavy weight hanging in the pit of his stomach.

He thought he’d gotten over those mornings when he would taste bile on the back of his tongue. Tharja had gone to impressive lengths to remind him that he wasn’t carrying his weight alone. It had come running back the moment Naga had informed him of the role he was fated to play. It was always going to come back to him against the fell dragon. There was a certain level of comfort to be found in the fact that he’d have Chrom and the others for the larger battle. It still left him feeling ill to carry the weight of what he now knew about that final blow.

The strategist slipped out of the bed that he shared with Tharja as quietly as he could. He pulled on his trousers, preparing to take in some morning air to clear his head again. Once he had some more time to think about this, he was sure it would all be much clearer, or at least much simpler. As he slipped past the flap of their tent, he had almost convinced himself that his experience had been nothing but a dream.

That hope was shattered by the sound of the warning bell crying out. It seemed that the goddess hadn’t been exaggerating how little time he had. It wasn’t a case of months, weeks, or even days. He turned his eyes to the horizon, seeing the dark clouds that hung over the neighbouring town. Robin slowly cupped his palm over the burning brand that he’d seen in his dream, its dull ache radiating through his joints.

The strategist took a long breath, hoping that by giving his body a moment, it might stop trembling. It didn’t. This was the moment. This was the dawn of the final battle. It was the final challenge that stood between them and happily ever after.

They weren’t ready.

Not even close.

Winning wasn’t what Robin needed to plan for. He needed them to last long enough for Chrom and the rest of the Shepards to make it back. He needed to hold the line and keep everyone alive for…for how long? Would Chrom and the others make it back in time? How was he supposed to keep everyone alive with such a small group of fighters? No, he couldn’t think like that. If he started going down that road, it was already too late.

Robin turned his eyes away from the dark clouds that were rolling in, looking to the camp instead. Other fighters were stepping out of their tents, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. They hadn’t yet come to grips with the danger that they were all in. They were all about to take notice of the black wave that threatened to roll over all of them and leave nothing in its wake. After that they’d all be swept into a panic. That was the first thing Robin needed to avoid, and he knew exactly how.

“Noire, Brady, Owain!” Robin shouted quickly as he marched through the middle of the camp, “Make a run for the village we’ve been trading with. Evacuate who you can, get who you can’t to shelter!” He watched as confused faces that had started to turn to worry captured the focused expressions of soldiers with missions.

Getting the civilians out of the village served two purposes. The first was to keep them out of the fighting and keep his people from getting distracted with them. That was also the reason that he knew not to expect any resistance. The second was that their camp was essentially just a collection of tents, and offered little defence against a wave of Risen. If they could make their way to the village before the attack started, they’d have the benefit of houses and walls to at least offer them cover.

“Laurent, Tharja! Go help Anna with packing up her cart so she can get moving too.” While Anna was a capable fighter, leaving her on her own to pack up, transport, and defend the cart full of precious weapons and medical supplies would be a mistake. When Chrom and the rest of the reinforcements arrived, they were going to be tired, battered, and in need of fresh weapons. The cart full of supplies was definitely a priority.

Laurent and Tharja were the perfect candidates for the job. As skilled magicians they had a basic knowledge of what sorts of things would require extra care when being packed. That hadn’t been the only reasoning for the choice, “Keep your eyes out for anything that might give us an advantage against dragons or Risen. Tell Anna even big ticket items are on the table.” He was sure the merchant would like to hear that, and there wasn’t any point in being stingy if this was the last battle.

Finally, the strategist turned his eyes to the brunette mercenary. Her gaze seemed stuck on the dragon-shaped cloud that was coming over the horizon, “Sevra.” Robin broke her focus on the cloud, “You and I are going to help pack what we can, and turn what we can’t into fortifications.”

Severa narrowed her eyes slightly, “How are a handful of crates and tents going to help us beat that!?” The twin-tailed mercenary threw her hand in the direction of the approaching wall of darkness.

Robin gripped at his aching and trembling hand again. He understood Severa’s outburst. He was having the same fear reaction she was. He wanted to turn and run away. The cloud that was coming for them was the spectre of death itself. It had taken nearly every ounce of his will to keep from running and clawing for every last moment of life.

“This isn’t about winning.” He let his gaze linger on the approaching darkness, “I am going to buy you all time to get to the village where you’ll have a better chance.” With that he turned away, issuing orders to the handful of foot soldiers to start work packing up the camp and make their way to the village for safety.

Severa bit her bottom lip as she watched Robin’s back as he moved away from her. It hadn’t been all that long ago that she’d been part of the plan to cut him down before he could become a monster. Now, watching him prepare to make a final stand in defending them, she was overcome by a familiar feeling. It was the same feeling she’d had when her parents had told her to run while they covered her retreat. It was the same feeling she’d promised herself she’d never leave a reason for herself, or any of the others to feel again.

The mercenary girl spat into the dirt as she curled her fingers around the hilt of her sword. Cynthia had been right, and she knew that Owain had felt the same way. For a bunch of people who wanted to be heroes, they hadn’t been acting heroic in a while.

Robin had crouched down to start work on freeing one of the tent spikes from the earth. Naga had told him that he was going to have to make a choice, that it was all part of destiny. A pox on destiny. The decision was easy. He’d buy everyone a little bit more time here, and they’d all be able to take down Grima. If his life bought the rest of the Shepards a little bit more time, to regroup so they could take on Grima, it was worth it. That math was easy. He knew they’d be able to figure this out without him. Naga had told him that Chrom could deliver the blow that would seal Grima away. Maybe it wouldn’t end his evil forever, but Robin would put saving the next generation in the win column.

When Robin heard Severa’s footfalls come to a stop behind him, he stopped his work and turned to look at her. His eyes went wide when he saw the naked sword in her grasp, “Sorry about this.” Her muttered apology was the last thing he heard before he felt the sharp blow the side of his head and he was swallowed by darkness.

oOoOo

The jostling of the wagon woke Lucina with a start. The trails of combat with Walhart’s forces, had been exhausting. The time spent traveling had offered little in the way of relief. When she’d climbed into the back ofthe wagon, she’d told herself it had just been to rest her legs for a while. She supposed at some point she’d let her guard down long enough to close her eyes, and sleep had caught up to her.

It hadn’t really been restful. The days and nights after spending time on the battlefield never were. The smell of blood and sight of death dredged up her deepest fears. She always found the nightmares of her past waiting behind her eyelids, revived and refreshed. In every moment of rest she could hear the cries of her friends and family. Even in moments like this, when exhaustion sapped the last of her strength, she still found her mind filled with ash and blood.

The heiress turned her eyes to the raven-haired girl who rode in the wagon with her. The glare was plain on the young strategist’s face. Lucina wondered if perhaps the other girl had considered killing her while she’d slept. She clearly hadn’t. Perhaps this was proof that she wasn’t beyond reason. Lucina knew that she lacked her own memories of the world of horrors that they’d come from, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be made to understand. It was the same for all of the others. Lucina’d seen many disdainful looks, but they could all understand the necessity of her mission.

There wasn’t any malice behind it. It wasn’t personal, even if Morgan took it as such. If Grima was allowed to roam free, there was no escaping their destiny, no way to change their fate. This wasn’t just about the Shepards. This wasn’t a conversation about who’s parents were more important. It was about everyone, everywhere. It was about the fate of the world itself.

Lucina hoped with all of her heart that, when they returned, the research team would have found an answer. She would have loved nothing more than to sheath her blade forever and have the weight of this mission taken off her shoulders. The possibility that when they returned there would be a peaceful solution and she’d no longer bear this responsibility was like a dream. It had been so heavy for so long.

She knew better than to put too much stock in such fleeting dreams. The battle against Grima was a cruel and arduous endeavour. Every drop of happiness cost gallons of suffering. When the time came for her to chose the lesser of two evils, she and her sword would be ready. If ending one life here in the past was what it took to end the disastrous future she’d left behind, she could stomach that sacrifice. She’d gladly turn her sword into an executioner’s blade if it meant stopping Grima here.

It wasn’t personal.

Morgan’s impassioned glare still held enough heat to make the heiress uncomfortable. She wanted to imagine that it had more to do with their recent battle than her personal mission. It was easy to convince herself that the young strategist was upset at being plucked from the nest and thrown into a baptism of fire. Against Walhart, Lucina doubted they’d have escaped unscathed even if Robin had been there to offer his strategic wisdom.

In truth, while the battle with Walhart had been gruelling, the cost to the Shepards had suffered had been manageable. When Lucina looked for the faces and names that had become engraved in her heart, she still found all of them. They’d suffered a few scrapes and bruises, and everyone was exhausted, but they’d all be there to see another sunrise. Lucina had heard that one of the early scouting parties had gone missing, and a group of foot soldiers had fallen when they’d been ambushed. She’d meant to find a list of their names when they returned to camp so she could commit them to memory.

For it being her first battle as their sole strategist, Morgan had performed exceptionally. While Lucina knew better than to say it out loud, she was feeling more secure knowing that Morgan could fill Robin’s position when the strategist was no longer with them. Of course, once Grima was defeated once and for all, Lucina supposed they’d have less need of a strategist. That was the reward that waited at the end of all of this fighting. It was the reason she’d been willing to wade neck deep through the muck in an attempt to keep hands of the others clean.

“Hey! What’s that?”

The shout had shaken the heiress from her thoughts. Using her sheathed sword to assist her, she pushed herself up onto her feet in the covered wagon. She approached the opening at the back, leaning around its edge to see what had caused the commotion. The sight that had greeted her caused her heart to drop to the pit of her stomach.

Plumes of smoke snaked up over the tree line in the direction that they were headed. That was a bad omen all by itself. What was worse was the wall of storm clouds that hung low in the sky behind it, seeming only to grow stronger as they absorbed the black smoke. Lucina knew immediately that that was no mere thunderstorm.

Lucina felt her mouth go dry at the sight of it. Her heart beat so hard that it drowned out everything around her. Her blood felt like ice in her veins as she felt the icy claws of despair reaching for her heart. Her body trembled, her fingers clutching desperately to flaps of the covered wagon like a child clutching onto the hem of her mother’s dress.

A fork of lightning shot through the clouds, lighting up their inky black mass. For the briefest of moments Lucina had seen it. It had been visible for such a short time that she could almost have convinced herself it had been a trick of the light. She knew better. It wasn’t just in her head. She’d seen the silhouette of the leathery black wings, and the long tail. She’d seen the flash of lightning reflect off of those terrible eyes.

As the thunder finally reached them, Lucina whispered the name of the nightmare that stood before her…

“Grima…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey...I've had this chapter ready for a week now. My initial plan was to do a double post of this chapter and the next chapter today as an extra special present to all of you. I technically could have done that, because unless I make some changes to it, the next chapter is done, but we are coming up to the final battle here, and I don't want to make any big obvious mistakes (I think I just thought of a minor thing that I need to change in what I just wrote actually...)
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to assure you all that I am not dead, and neither is this story. We are going to get to the end. Also, the next chapter isn't the end. I need at least the next chapter plus one more, and then I've got some thoughts for a sweet little epilogue.
> 
> In other news, I'm most of the way through a one-shot for an entirely different thing, and about half-way through a chapter for one of my other stories (c'mon, you know which one).
> 
> Now here comes the moment you've all been waiting for...
> 
> What is this betrayal!? Has the heroic Robin just been felled by none other than Severa? Will Noire and Morgan ever forgive her for totally murdering their daddy? Are we revving up for an epic battle between Tharja and the mercenary girl? Are all of the Shepards set to kill each other before Grima shows up? Can our heroes survive the upcoming battle with Morgan as their only strategist? Now that Robin is dead, will Grima be able to possess his body and make it the new avatar? Will the next chapter take multiple months before it comes out!? For the answers to these and many other questions, tune in next time! Same bat-time! Same bat-channel!


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